The Price of Revenge
by IndigoElle
Summary: Jason has returned to Gotham with one thought in mind; vengeance. After witnessing a scene that catches him off guard, Jason discovers the perfect way to gain retribution. All it takes is the manipulation of one person: Tim Drake.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome to my attempt at an AU story. I wanted to try something different instead of my usual type of fics, and came up with this. I don't have much to say for now, so I hope you enjoy. Please let me know your thoughts, and I hope this story interests you!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

There were only two pieces of knowledge that Jason cared about for a long time.

One, that the Joker was still alive. After beating Jason to a broken corpse and blowing him up in a warehouse, Batman still hadn't crossed the line. _Bruce_ still hadn't avenged him. Taking away the life of his Robin hadn't been enough; it hadn't hurt his mentor the way Jason had once thought it would. Many said the Batman was emotionless; the shell of a man. Jason had begun to believe that was right.

But the second piece of information, that small fact, was just as torturing, if not worse.

Batman had a new Robin.

The rumors all praised him, the news reporters said that his skill was legendary. He worked in perfect sync with Batman, so he heard. They all pointed out that the new kid was better than him, even though they had no idea it was a different boy behind the mask. All of this just added in to the fact that Jason Todd had been replaced. How soon, the newly resurrected man had no idea. But considering that Batman was as much of a shell as the whispers on the street said, Jason had to bet that it hadn't been a long time. Bruce had moved on to a new sidekick, just like he had been Dick's replacement. Now Jason had his.

Enraged and betrayed, he had travelled the world and trained, harder than he ever had done. Vengeance was the mantra that he said every day, the one thing he reminded himself when he woke up and went to sleep. He refused to return to Gotham until he had perfected his training, until he was ready to confront his mentor. Not only that, but Jason intended to avenge himself if that was what it took. The Joker would pay for what he had done, not only to him, but to every unfortunate soul that had been a victim.

And the new little Robin?

Well, Jason intended to find him too.

He always planned on finding both of them, and to deal with them accordingly. It was a tip about the Joker's whereabouts that he heard first; not surprisingly the lunatic had escaped Arkham Asylum yet again. From there, Jason searched high and low for his murderer, knowing he had to beat Batman to it. As much as he hated to admit it, beating Batman was not an easy thing to accomplish. He doubted that he would actually find the Joker first.

But the streets had been oddly quiet, with no sign or rumor that Batman had been patrolling Gotham. On a normal occasion, Jason knew Batman would have been searching endlessly, attempting to find the Joker before he could leave a calling card. After a while of silence, Jason could only come up with one excuse; Batman wasn't in Gotham. It gave Jason the advantage that he needed, the chance to do what needed to be done. Before Batman could resurface in the city, Jason was able to track down the Joker.

He didn't expect to find the new Robin as well.

The old building was seated right outside of Gotham, by the ports. The night air was cold, the water of the river mixing with the sounds of city life. Jason had taken one look at the old building and had to repress a shudder. It reminded him of that night, with its worn exterior and foreboding air. Everything screamed for him to turn back and run, to get as far away as possible. But then Jason remembered why he was there; all of the months he spent training and molding himself into something greater. It was enough to shake him from the gnawing fear, and Jason gathered himself together. Easily he climbed to the roof of the building and approached a window, crouching down and peering inside the building.

The force of shock he felt was almost enough to send him flying off the roof. There, in the center of the room, was the newest Robin. While seeing him in real life and not just in the news was jarring enough, that wasn't what made him feel sick to his stomach. The boy was bound by the wrists, his belt missing as well as his shoes. He was covered in blood, his hair a matted mess. The uniform he wore was ripped, the mask barely intact. Even through the window, Jason could hear the boy's ragged gasps.

Then, from the shadows, came a figure waltzing towards the boy. In his hand he gripped a crowbar, slick with the boy's blood. His red lips stretched into a grin, one that looked too wide for his face. It took everything Jason had to not shoot the Joker in the head right in that moment.

Joker walked over to the boy, circling him slowly. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm sure that I killed you already, Bird Boy."

Jason had to swallow hard, his mind going back to that awful day. He could have sworn he was watching this happen to himself. The black hair, the blood, the crowbar; it was all too familiar. Even from the safety of the roof, Jason could still remember how each hit felt against his body; every single crushing blow. The only thing keeping him mounted in the present was the different costume the boy wore.

"And see, the whole point is that you stay dead," Joker continued, prodding at Robin's body with the crowbar, earning a groan from the boy. "You're going to confuse old Batsy at this rate."

Robin's fingers twitched, like he wanted to grab something in his belt that was no longer there. Joker twirled the crowbar in his hand, "That's my job. We can't have you stealing the show, now can we?"

Robin didn't respond, probably because he couldn't. The boy's face was half buried in the floor, his dark hair covering his face so much that Jason couldn't decipher his expression. The Joker must have gotten tired of being ignored, and grabbed the boy by his dark mop of hair and lifted him up. Jason saw the absolute expression of agony on the boy's face then, it screamed of undeniable pain. It was pain that Jason could still feel, deep in his bones. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the hatred he had towards the new Robin had begun to fall away; he hated instead that he could relate to this kid.

"Children are supposed to speak when spoken to," Joker chided, dropping the boy onto the floor again. Robin caught himself on his forearms, barely able to support the weight of his upper body. "If you were going to come back from the dead, you could have at _least_ learned some etiquette this time around."

Robin made a noise that sounded like he was trying to speak. It was the wrong move to make, as Joker whipped around and struck the boy across the face with the crowbar. The weapon hit so hard that the boy was rolled onto his back. Jason tried to ignore the strange tingling he felt on his cheek, the memory of how it felt to have metal hit skin not at all vague.

"Lesson Number One," Joker said, "Don't sass your host."

Jason was frozen to the roof. He watched, feeling like he was bound up and helpless as Joker raised his weapon again. "In the next chapter, we'll be answering the long debated question; how many hits does it take to kill a Robin with a crowbar?"

Joker's laugh felt like someone was grinding their nails down a thousand chalk boards to Jason's ears. He could only stare as Joker brought the crowbar down on the boy, again and again. Robin flinched, twisted, tried all that he could to get away. Finally, as if giving up on all the hope he contained, he screamed.

His scream reached through Jason's dazed state, and morphed into his own scream all those years ago.

It was what he needed to break him free. Jason grabbed a gun from his holster and aimed, just as Joker brought up the crowbar again. Jason jumped through the window and fired, the bullet striking the crowbar and sending it flying out of Joker's hand. It hit the back wall and clattered to the ground, and the villain spun around to face Jason as he landed on the floor.

Jason rose slowly, "Class is dismissed."

"Well don't you look familiar," Joker said, looking Jason up and down. "I wore something close to that, though I was a lot classier than you."

Jason hadn't debuted as yet, he hadn't even made himself known to the public in this gear. But he was sure the red helmet gave enough away that even the Joker could figure out who he was. Jason responded, "Had to get with the times."

The Joker looked disappointed, "Fashion these days, it's just gone downhill. I'd love to chat but I'm a little occupied—"

Jason lunged forwards, his fist connecting with the Joker's jaw. He grabbed the villain by the neck and shoved him into the wall. "Why didn't he kill you? _Why?_ Did I mean nothing at all?"

The Joker struggled against his grasp, "Well you don't mean anything to _me_. Did I know you before?"

In response Jason clutched the gun tighter in his hand as he brought it up to the lunatic's head. He wanted to end his killer right then and there. It was the vengeance he deserved. But without Bruce there to witness it…

No, Bruce should have done it in the first place. Jason knew he shouldn't have had to come back to life, to this messed up scene of the past, to do it himself. But that line, that damn line the Batman refused to cross; it held the crime fighter back. Jason would never be enough to make him do it, never.

Joker gasped out, "You know, whoever you're angry at, you can't be more upset than that kid."

Looking over his shoulder, Jason saw Robin sprawled out on the floor. The boy was trying to get up, his hands sliding in the blood around him. Before this, Jason intended to confront the Robin another time and deal with him then, show him just how he felt about being replaced. But after watching the awful scene, one so similar to his own death, something in Jason had disappeared. The bitterness he had towards the kid had immensely lessened. No matter how good the kid was, he still ended up here, just like Jason had. It made him just as vulnerable as Jason, and no better.

He knew that right now he couldn't kill the Joker, not when he wanted Bruce to do it so badly. Jason looked back long enough to smash his fist across the Joker's face, effectively knocking him out. The Joker slipped from his grasp and onto the floor, and Jason pressed his fist into the wall, trying to reign in his anger. It took a minute for him to regain his senses before he walked over and stopped before the kid. Robin looked up at him, as much as he possibly could angle his head to do so.

Jason didn't want to kill the kid, that much he was sure. He let out a sigh, partly to reduce the agony of his fraying nerves. "Maybe if it were you, then he'd cross that line."

Robin didn't seem to hear him, and Jason didn't care. He reached down and picked up the boy, knowing that no matter how careful he was it wouldn't matter. In his arms the boy tensed, gritting his teeth against the pain. Jason could remember how every moment had hurt, every breath had been shards of glass in his chest. The kid was barely conscious, and probably barely alive. Jason clenched his jaw, trying to make a decision when suddenly he heard it.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

It was the quietest sound, but Jason knew what it was. His head snapped to the side, where he saw a timer set back in the shadows, counting down. His heart stopped, throat constricted, and then he bolted, the kid still in his arms as he ran for the front of the building. Jason paused long enough to send his boot clad foot into the door, panic seizing him for a moment as he remembered that back then it had been locked. But this time kicking it open worked, he briefly noted as he ran that the lock had rotted.

He ran, faster than he had run in a long time. The explosion was deafening, and sent Jason flying off his feet. His body travelled through the air, Robin still in his arms before he crashed to the ground on his back. Robin let out a groan, loud enough to let Jason know he was still alive. Jason clenched his jaw and sat up, watching the building slowly burn to ash. That was how it had ended back then, though he'd never seen what remained, until now.

Joker had really planned to reenact the whole scene, straight to the end. At the thought of the Joker, the inner fire in Jason started up again. He had come for vengeance, he had come to wreak havoc on Bruce for betraying him and yet—

Jason looked down at the beaten boy, and suddenly realized he didn't need the Joker.

Vengeance was in his grasp.

The idea was just a thought, and not a developed one. But it was possible, so possible that Jason couldn't let it go. It was better than the Joker, better than blackmail. Jason was sure that it would be the biggest blow to Batman, and especially to Bruce Wayne.

It would work, Jason was convinced, but there was only one way he could pull it off.

Robin had to live.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story and/or added it as a favorite or follow! I didn't expect a response like this, but I am so glad for it. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter. I hope you like it!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

After fleeing the area of the explosion, and the authorities who were sure to be coming, Jason had inspected Robin's injuries. He was surprised at his findings; Robin hadn't been beaten as badly as he'd originally thought. Yes, the injuries were in need of immediate medical attention, but compared to Jason's old wounds it was considerably less. Jason knew he must have intervened at the right time, saving the kid from the rest of the beating that would have surely killed him. He was smaller than Jason had been at his age, with not nearly enough bulk. One thing he was certain of; this kid was not from the streets.

He stole and hotwired a car from a side street, and then made a reluctant decision. The kid needed medical attention, and if it had been just a little less severe then he would have sped to the nearest city. But that risk was not in his favor, or Robin's. Jason had no choice but to remain in Gotham and take the kid to the city hospital; though at least in Gotham they wouldn't ask too many questions. He knew the residents had seen so much chaos that they didn't bother to think of the cause anymore.

Jason took it upon himself to remove the Robin suit from the kid, not needed to draw more attention to themselves than necessary. Admittedly, he was impressed; his old uniform hadn't had nearly as much protection. Either it was compensating for the boy's lack of body mass, or Batman had decided that dressing his Robin with a bit more Kevlar was a fantastic idea. Bitter thoughts aside, the suit was impressive; and one of the few things that kept the broken boy alive.

He gave excuses to the doctors and nurses; the kid had been beaten by a gang in the back streets of Gotham. As expected, no one raised an eyebrow at the claim; just whisked the boy away. He claimed the kid was an orphan who had been staying with him, and that he had no family. They took that lie as well, and Jason was satisfied with the cover. He'd considered that Bruce might have taken in his new Robin as his ward; another risk. But no one recognized the boy as connected to the Wayne name, which gave Jason another advantage.

Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't on alert. The kid wasn't even conscious, and despite his injuries that doctors assured Jason would heal, that didn't make everything totally easy. He was still in the middle of Gotham, Batman's territory. While it seemed like the city's protector had gone missing, or was at least out of town, he'd return eventually. It was only a matter of time before Bruce realized his Robin was missing, and so was the Joker. Advantage; he'd connect the two as being one in the same. Disadvantage; Bruce would be on the search. As far as Jason was concerned, he wanted to be out of Gotham before that happened.

But that meant the kid had to wake up, and Jason had to try and make his plan work. Until then, he was stuck in his old hometown, eyes on the sky and ears tuned to the whispers on the street. The odds weren't looking that great, and there was no telling what unexpected scene he'd fall into next. But if Jason had nothing else, he had determination. He'd get out of the Bat's city, he was confident in that.

He just had to wait.

* * *

To say that Tim was haunted by the ordeal would be putting it lightly.

Even unconscious, the memory repeated over and over in his head. The Joker's laughter echoed, and he could feel every whack of the crowbar against his body. His screams were his only way of communication in the nightmare, and nobody ever answered. He knew every inch of the crowbar, and the exact shade of red that matched his blood. It was a constant state of agony, of complete turmoil that had the strongest grip on his mind.

Then, when he thought he was actually going to lose his wits, he finally woke up.

He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't white walls. Tim blinked, turning his head to look at the beeping machines. Wires were attached to him, and he could feel the tightness of bandages around his chest, see them wound around his arms. He reached a hand up and touched his jaw, wincing at how sore his face felt; it had to be bruised. He ran his tongue over his teeth, amazed that none had been knocked out. But sitting up proved to be the worst action; searing fire seemed to race through his chest and he gasped, grimacing.

"Sounds like you're awake," a male voice said from the corner of the room. "Though I wouldn't suggest moving."

Tim looked up, seeing a man standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall. While Tim didn't mind people being there when he was hurt, he had assumed those people would either be Bruce or Alfred, or even Dick. He didn't expect to see a stranger there, dressed in a biker's jacket. His hair was dark and eyes blue, and he was looking at Tim both curiously and with something else that the teen couldn't place. It was a cool expression, controlled, like he was holding back other emotions that he didn't want anyone to see.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Tim answered, looking at the man apprehensively. "What are you doing here?"

"I expected more of a welcome tone," the man said. He was young, in his early twenties at most. Tim couldn't help but notice how strong the man looked; even his posture radiated some sort of strength. It wasn't cocky, but a sort of knowledge that told the teen that this stranger somehow had the upper hand. "That's not how I would greet the person who saved my life."

"You?" Tim replied, eyebrows rising. He couldn't remember much past hearing the window shatter, he had been fighting blacking out at that point. Though he did recall looking up at someone, their face was a blur. The longer he tried to think of it, the blearier the image became, fading away.

The man smirked, blue eyes sparking. "Not all saviors come dressed in white."

 _Sometimes they wear black,_ Tim said to himself. With that thought, realization dawned on him and the teen's heart almost stopped. "That means you know..."

"Your little secret?" The man waved his hand dismissively, though he didn't appear to be bored. "Please, don't have heart attack over it. I've known Bruce longer than you."

Tim wasn't sure how to respond to the comment, but the man continued speaking before he could try. "So you're Round Three, huh? He just flies through his Robins these days."

"That's not how it works," Tim said, narrowing his eyes. "If you knew Bruce, then you'd know what happened."

The man smirked, and Tim suddenly regretted his words. There was a look in those blue eyes, so intensely focused on him, that screamed he knew all too well what went on in the past. "Know what? That he ended up constantly fighting with his first sidekick, so he replaced him with a kid from the street? Or that the replacement was smacked with a crowbar and then blown up in a warehouse? What am I missing?"

Tim swallowed hard, "I'm not a replacement. Batman _needed_ me."

"Oh, I'm sure he did," the man replied coolly. It was too calm, and yet with a tinge of bitterness. "Just like he needed the last two. But what happened when their use ran out?"

The man walked forwards, coming to Tim's bedside. "I watched him replace Robin after Robin. He didn't bother stopping the first from leaving, and with the second? He didn't wait too long before dropping another kid into the uniform."

Tim glared up at the man, "It sounds like you're jealous. What do I have that _you_ didn't?"

Again, the man's eyes flashed. Tim saw something along the lines of anger and hurt before the man spoke, softer than before, "Someone to tell me this."

Then the man's eyes hardened again, along with his voice. "Bruce kept tabs on you, didn't he?"

Tim knew it wasn't a good idea to answer. The entire conversation was pulling at mindsets that the teen didn't want to have in his head. But his curiosity took hold, and he answered, "Yes, of course he did."

"Then why didn't he come for you?" Any trace of a smirk from the stranger's face was gone. In its place was an icy understanding. "I've been standing here for three days, kid. I dragged your body out of that building, I brought you here and saved your life. He hasn't shown his face, costumed or civilian."

Everything in Tim wanted to argue. Bruce had been at the Watchtower, and he was occupied with League business. But Batman never stopped watching over Gotham, even that far away. He always kept an eye on his city, and on Tim. When the Joker had broken out of Arkham, Tim had raced back to Gotham from his stay with the Titans. He had thought Bruce would be there, or at least contact him. But there had been nothing, totally unlike his mentor.

Then he'd fallen right into one of the Joker's plots…

Tim shook his head, proving to be a horrible idea. An instant headache bloomed, and Tim reached up and touched his head. "No, Bruce always watches Gotham. There has to be something wrong—"

"Is there?" The man questioned, eyeing Tim. "Does Bruce assume that you'll go after the Joker? Or did he tell you to stay away?"

The man walked from Tim's bedside to the window, his gait oddly smooth for someone so giant. "I bet he told you to stay away, didn't he? So why would he bother contacting you? And then when you were captured…"

"Stop," Tim said, gripping the sheets of his hospital bed. His hands balled into fists in his lap, and he stared down at them. It hurt to hear these theories, it hurt to hear anything that made sense. The man's points were all valid, and Tim's logical mind wanted to accept them, no matter the emotional impact.

But the stranger continued, "If he keeps tabs on Gotham _and_ you, then he knew where you were. And he didn't bother coming for you. If I hadn't been looking for the Joker myself, then you'd be dead right now. Bruce wasn't coming to the rescue."

He wanted to speak up, he wanted to argue that none of that was true. But somehow this man knew Bruce, somehow he knew the policy; either that or he did incredibly well at guessing. Tim pressed his lips together, unable to say anything against what the man was suggesting.

There was a minute of silence before the man asked, his back still to the teen, "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you have no family."

"Not anymore," Tim muttered before he could think it through. Instantly a wave of numbness washed over him as the images played in his mind. He tried so hard not to think of it, to shove it into a dark place in his head where he couldn't touch it. But he could still feel the blood on his hands, hear himself scream and beg, the tears rolling down his face. "My father…he was murdered."

He didn't know why he confessed that to a stranger, why he was giving the man more material to use to goad him. The man replied with a heavy sigh, "Well that's just it then. He wasn't going to adopt you, so clearly he wasn't going to rescue you either. He used you, kid. Now he's done. Pretty soon you'll have your own replacement."

"What do you want?" Tim snapped his gaze to the man as he turned away from the window. "You're telling me this for a reason."

"Because maybe I want to save you, kid," the man replied, going to stand by Tim once again. "Maybe I don't want the almighty Batman throwing away another kid because he's tired of them."

"How?" Tim was suspicious, that was for certain.

"I'm offering to take you in," the man answered. "We'll get out of Gotham, and prove that Bruce can't just throw away the orphans he takes in for his own benefit. This time he won't be able to do it."

"Why should I trust you?" Tim locked eyes with the man, ready for an excuse.

Instead, the man shrugged. "Maybe you shouldn't. But where else are you going to go, kid? If Bruce doesn't want you, then nobody else does either. No one else but me, who actually bothered to keep you alive."

Tim knew he shouldn't listen. As much as the man was getting to his head, he didn't fully believe that Bruce would do anything like that. But he couldn't help but be intrigued; this stranger was nothing like he had ever encountered. Who was this person that claimed to know so much about Bruce and the past Robins? What could he possibly gain from taking in someone Bruce supposedly threw away?

There were too many unanswered questions for Tim to let it go. Pieces of the puzzle were missing, and he had to figure them out. That was what detectives did, after all, and that was what he had trained to be. Besides, if he discovered for sure that the man was wrong, he could go back to Bruce. No matter what, Tim felt he had this under control.

"Alright," Tim agreed, regarding his savior with a blank expression. "I'll go. But I have a name, you know."

"I can't call you by a name if I don't know what it is," the man answered.

Though Tim knew this was the last piece of information he had hidden, he gave it away. It was for the sake of discovery. "Tim. Tim Drake."

Suddenly the smirk appeared back on the stranger's face, this one of satisfaction. "Rest up, Tim. We've got a long road ahead of us."

"What about your name?" Tim asked.

The man chuckled in response, and turned away. "You'll learn it when I trust you."

* * *

Jason's first thoughts on the kid? Bruce really had an affinity for dark haired, blue eyed kids.

Outside the hospital, Jason stood leaning against the wall. A cigarette was lit between his lips, his eyes trained on the street, darkened by the night sky. He was out there partly to get some fresh air, partly to give himself a chance to think, but mostly to listen for any signs of Batman. It was quiet, other than the hum of car engines as the vehicles drove by. Jason took a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke thoughtfully.

This Robin wasn't like him, and he certainly was nothing like Dick. He hated to admit it, but the boy reminded him of Bruce; calculating and thoughtful. Perhaps the Bat had succeeded in getting someone to think like him, or the kid was naturally talented. Either way, the kid had a mind to be reckoned with, and Jason had to be careful.

Still, he had been able to somewhat convince Tim. The crestfallen expression on his face was enough to tell Jason he'd made a doubtful mark on the teenager's mind. Doubt in someone that young could do a lot of damage, especially with a new loss looming over their head. It was the kind of destruction Jason needed if he was going to pull off his plan, and so far it was looking very possible.

But he had no choice but to lurk around sensitive subjects for the time being; it was the only way to keep the little detective from breaking off entirely and going back to Bruce. The boy's expression, so curious and thoughtful, kept repeating in Jason's head. Yes, he had to be careful if he was going to shift all the power into his hands. They were still strangers to each other, observing each other behind masks of thought. He hadn't seen the real boy behind the mask, the real personality. Jason placed the cigarette back in his mouth, looking up to the black and cloudy sky.

He may have had his first impression of Robin, but he still had yet to meet Tim Drake.

But that would change. From here on out, Tim's entire world would never be the same, and neither would he. Jason smirked to himself, unable to hide the darkness in it.

Everything was off to a smooth start.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey there, everyone. It's been quite a long time. I'd like to apologize for my very long absence. Life has gotten extremely busy, which drew my attention away from my stories entirely. I don't have as much time to work on these as I would like, but recently I've sat down to try and work on what I have so far. You guys have been so supportive that I didn't want to leave you wondering too much. That being said, I haven't looked at this chapter all that closely, so I apologize for any mistakes that I didn't catch.**

 **I will do my best to write for this story especially, whenever I have the chance. I hope you all haven't lost interest, and if this chapter isn't as good as the others I do apologize again. Let's hope I can find more time to write, because I really do like what I have planned for these characters.**

 **Thank you for all of your feedback and support! It encourages me to keep going through the hard times.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

Bruce Wayne never panicked.

He was a firm believer that in order to act accordingly, he needed to keep a cool and clear head. Even in his most distraught moments, using anger or vengeance as a reason to fight never ended well. No matter the situation, Bruce forced himself to think logically, to calculate every move in order to stop the worst from occurring. Only once had Bruce Wayne ever truly panicked in his adult life, and that day had ended in flames and a broken boy.

Batman couldn't afford to have such a fear in his veins. He was fear itself, he was the dark protector of Gotham. Every time he stumbled upon a particularly dangerous crime scene or situation, he had to not be blinded by sheer adrenaline. He had to use his head and not allow emotion to get to him. That being said, Batman never panicked.

But he was getting dangerously close to it this time.

He had been off-world, dealing with the Justice League and international problems. Nobody had expected them to get so deeply involved, and certainly they didn't expect that the case would cut off their interaction from Earth itself. By the time Bruce was able to return to Gotham, the Joker had been out of Arkham for an entire week. That alone would have been bad enough, but then Bruce had another realization. This one slammed him into a brick wall of fear, and he had to stamp down on it before it sent him spiraling into a place that he didn't need to enter.

He couldn't contact Tim.

It didn't take long for him to discover that his partner had seemingly disappeared without a trace. Alfred had worriedly explained that Tim never came to the manor, even though he had intended to come back to the city. Bruce called the Titans, only to receive confirmation that he had left and returned to Gotham. Tim hadn't checked in with his friends since then, and had left them all wondering what was happening across the country. Every contact that had a connection to the boy the Bat contacted, and all gave replies he didn't want to hear: No one had seen or heard from Tim Drake.

Bruce had then started his near-frantic search, going straight to the sight of an explosion that he had missed by a few days. The sight of it threatened to pull him back to another explosion, another dreadful night full of his own mistakes. The more he did his own search, the more he feared he'd be pulling his partner's broken body out from under the destruction, even when the police assured him no bodies had been found. But, to his slight relief and overall frustration, there was no evidence in the rubble; any clue that had been there was long gone. All that he found was the GPS tracker cut out of the Robin suit, and it was enough to make his stomach churn. Other than that, both the Joker and Robin left no hint to their whereabouts.

Batman now sat in front of the large computer screen in the cave, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, elbows on the keyboard. How long he'd been staring at the multitude of security feeds he had all over the city he wasn't sure; it could have been hours and it might have been days. Inside his mind it became harder and harder to focus on a simple missing person case when he had to put Tim's face on the cover. If only he had told Tim to stay with the Titans until his return, if only he'd made it specifically clear that he would, under no circumstances, leave his base of operations or the manor. And why had Tim even gone after the Joker in the first place?

No, Tim knew better than that. Batman had never had this problem with Tim before, in fact he was the most obedient partner that he'd ever had. Tim did not test his boundaries, he did not ask for much more than he was given. The most he'd ever asked was to be a part of the Titans, and since that day his requests were few and far between, and nothing as major as that. Tim would not have gone after the Joker on his own while knowing Batman's orders. Something had happened to get his partner in the crossfire.

His partner-why did he keep saying that? Maybe it wasn't in writing yet, but this was Bruce's son who was missing. He hadn't brought up the suggestion to Tim yet since his father's death was so recent, but he had for a long time looked upon the boy as his own. The adoption papers were sitting in his desk in the manor, ready to be signed whenever he got the courage to talk to Tim about the possibility. He'd do it as soon as the boy was safe, Bruce decided, in an effort to keep the panic at bay. It gave him a goal, something to look forward to, and kept him from thinking anything else.

" _Batman. You there?"_ The voice flooded through the comm link, snapping Bruce from his thoughts.

"Nightwing," Batman greeted, forcing his voice to sound business-as-usual. "What is it?"

" _Alfred called,"_ Dick responded simply, and Bruce could just see the frown on his eldest son's face. _"How long has he been missing?"_

"Four days now," Batman replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I only returned yesterday, and so far I haven't found anything."

" _Think it's connected to…?"_ Nightwing trailed off, and with good reason. No one ever wanted to bring up a connection between a Robin and the Joker, not ever again. But it was the reality of their current situation, and Bruce had to do his best to keep his eyes forward.

"I'm not entirely convinced," Batman replied, "The GPS tracker was cut out of the suit. I don't think the Joker would think it through that clearly. But he's the only lead we have so far."

" _Yeah?"_ Nightwing said, and then there was the distinct sound of a punch being thrown and connected with flesh. _"So what if I tell you I'm about to do some serious interrogating to one of his handy men?"_

Batman rose from his seat. Leave it to Dick to come racing to the city the moment he heard his family was in trouble. He probably had left Bludhaven without a second thought. How long he'd been investigating in Gotham he didn't bother to ask. Batman would take all the help he could get, even if he wouldn't verbally admit it. "Send me your coordinates."

" _Already on it,"_ Nightwing replied. _"Not to rush you, but I'd appreciate it if you hurried. I'm kind of in the mood to get to business."_

Batman had to agree with that.

* * *

"Enough of this," Nightwing finally snapped as they stood amid the slums of a building by the ports. They'd been interrogating their capture for about forty-five minutes, and he hadn't given them much information. Granted, Nightwing had been doing the interrogating the majority of the time before Bruce had shown up, he just hadn't mentioned that. He figured he could give the guy a chance to confess before Batman made an entrance.

But the man had been stubborn, stuttering but not giving up anything useful. Batman walked over to where the accomplice was bound and lifted him off his feet with ease, slamming him into the wall so hard the building seemed to tremble. "Where is the Joker? What has he done with Robin?"

"I-I don't know!" The man's eyes darted around the room, as if begging for a rescue. Batman moved in closer, forcing the criminal to look nowhere but into the depths of the cowl. "I didn't even know we had Robin! I wasn't in on this whole plan!"

"Then where's the Joker?" Nightwing repeated, arms crossed as he scowled at the man. "We'll go and ask him ourselves."

"No one knows!" The man almost squealed as Batman lifted him off his feet, holding him against the wall by his shirt collar. "H-he disappeared after the explosion. N-no one has heard from him! I swear!"

"So he's underground," Nightwing muttered, running a hand through his black hair. "Great. A maniac on the loose and Robin gone."

Batman narrowed his eyes at the pathetic sight squirming in his grasp. He drew the man closer to his face, and spoke lowly, a threatening edge to his tone. "You better be giving me all you know."

"I swear!" The man closed his eyes, trembling in the Bat's grasp. "I'm telling you all I know!"

Nightwing didn't even bother to watch Batman knock the man out cold, pacing the length of the room they were in. This was exactly how the interrogation had gone before Batman intervened, except now it appeared no one knew of a plan to get Robin. He blew out a breath and turned to face the Bat, who stood staring down at the man in obvious frustration. Obvious to Nightwing simply because he knew his father well enough. "Looks like we're going to have to go straight to the source for this one."

"We'll find him," Batman said in that stern, no-questions-allowed tone. "Joker won't stay hidden for long. He always finds a way to put on a show. For now we spend our time trying to find his whereabouts."

"That an invitation to stay in Gotham?" Nightwing raised his eyebrows, avoiding the real words he wanted to ask. It was Bruce's way of asking for help, without actually saying it. He just expected Nightwing to follow his lead, and he was right in that thinking. Dick would follow his orders without question if that meant they would find Tim.

"It's still your home, whether you live here or not," Batman answered, glancing to the window. "For the time being, I suggest you stay here. We can spend the rest of the night on the search for more of Joker's accomplices. One of them may just give us at least one piece of useful intel."

Nightwing didn't have high hopes for that tactic, and he doubted that Batman did either. It was unspoken, but Dick understood where his father was coming from. As long as they kept occupied for the remainder of the night, they wouldn't feel so lost. They wouldn't feel like they were sitting around and doing nothing, which was the worst thing either of them could do. It would drive them crazy if they didn't get to work on at least trying to find somewhere to search. "Robin is a smart kid. He'll be okay until we find him."

The encouragement didn't reach either of them. Tim's predecessor had been smart too, intelligent in both street wits and logic. But it hadn't saved him when it came to the Joker. Not much could when dealing with a lunatic. Batman didn't say anything to that, but suddenly his gaze snapped to the side, almost causing Nightwing to jump. He reached for his escrima sticks and brought them to his hands just as Batman darted out the door. Nightwing ran after him, but didn't have far to go. The Bat stopped just at the hole in the wall at the end of the corridor where they had entered. Nightwing peered out into the night, and saw not even a shadow moving in the distance.

"See something?" Nightwing hadn't, but it had to have been something if it caused Batman to jump like that.

"Apparently not," Batman muttered, and shook his head. "We've wasted enough time here. Let's get to work."

* * *

Jason really needed to stop with the close calls.

He had been spending the majority of his time with Tim, keeping the boy company and a watch over him in case someone tried to ruin his plan. For once things were going right for him, and he intended to keep it that way. Tim didn't say much to him, despite the curiosity Jason knew was nagging at his mind. If anything they made brief conversation about topics that didn't run too deep, in between all the doctors and nurses coming to run tests and check his vitals.

Eventually though, Jason felt the need to step out and do some investigating. He hadn't heard any news about Batman's return, but felt inclined to check out the crime scene where he'd found Tim anyways. He'd purposely gone back there and left the tracker for Bruce to find, knowing that the authorities wouldn't have picked up on it. If it was gone, he'd know that Batman was back in town and surely onto the case.

The first thing he noticed when he arrived at the scene was that the docks were oddly quiet. It could have just been the fact that the cops had been all over the area recently, but even then he had caught sight of people on the pier, watching the investigation unfold. Now there was an uneasy quiet over everything that dared to send a shiver down Jason's spine. Luckily, it didn't.

He made his way over to the rubble, and sure enough the tracker was gone. That information was really all he needed to know in order to decide what move he would make next. But as he rose to his feet he turned his head at the echo of a sound he was sure couldn't have been made without an exertion of force. His own wonder took over and he crept to the building, staying low and within the shadows as much as possible.

The voices were clear to him, and he peered around the corner and into the room where they came from. There stood Nightwing and the Bat himself, clearly in the middle of an interrogation. He smiled underneath his helmet at the mention of the Joker; so they hadn't caught on yet that Robin's disappearance was due to an outside source. More power to him, although now he had a limited amount of time to make his next move.

He drew away once he heard Batman's plan, inching his way out of sight when somehow the Bat's ears caught the sound of him in the shadows. Jason didn't know how, but even though Batman was human he seemed to have superhuman senses. Freezing in place for a moment, Jason knew he really didn't have the option of staying still and risking discovery. He bolted down the hall and dove out the hole he had entered, and scrambled to the side where he attempted to mold himself to the darkness. He was balancing on a rocky ledge that dropped straight down into the water, and he held his breath as he heard the Bat stop at the entrance.

It was possible the Bat wouldn't think it a trick of the eye and start scanning the area. Jason held his breath, hoping his luck hadn't run out just yet, and nearly shouted in relief when Batman ordered Nightwing to come away with him. Something in the universe had his back, which was new to him, but he wasn't about to complain either. As soon as he was certain the Bat and Golden Boy had gone Jason made his way out of the area, shaking off the rush he'd gotten at almost being discovered. That was enough risk taking for now.

From there he returned to the hospital, a bag slung over his shoulder. He pushed open the door to Tim's room and the boy looked up at him, his expression wide awake. A Bat habit, Jason knew, to be up in the night hours even when they weren't patrolling. It was a system that was hard to break. "How are you feeling, kid?"

Tim stared at him like he was choosing his words carefully for such a simple question. Maybe he was analyzing Jason's words to see if there was any threat in them, or to try and get two steps ahead. Joke was on him though; the question meant nothing more than a regular inquiry. Finally Tim answered, "Fine. I can get around on my own."

"Glad to hear that," Jason responded and approached the end of the bed. "Cause I'm not about to carry you all the way out of this city."

With that he dropped the bag onto the bed by the boy's feet. Tim sent him an inquisitive blue stare, as if wondering if it was a trick. Jason waved his arm over it as an invitation, and Tim slowly reached out and pulled the bag to him, unzipping it and pulling out the contents. Jason had been kind enough to pack the boy some essentials: clothes, a toothbrush, and at the bottom the tattered remains of his Robin suit.

Tim didn't pull that out, but did look up at Jason with an unreadable stare. There looked to be a tinge of gratefulness in it, along with suspicion. But he did not bark out questions, he did not attempt to interrogate the secretive man before him. In fact, he looked like he was waiting for some sort of instruction.

"Get dressed and pack your things," Jason said with a small smirk. "We leave at dawn."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The motivation I have to continue this story is at its peak right now, so I managed to write this up. I already have the next few chapters outlined too, so hopefully the updates will come soon. Let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics**

* * *

Tim stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried not to think of how ridiculous he looked.

While he did appreciate this mystery guy getting him something to wear other than the hospital gown, their tastes in clothing were strikingly different. Since moving into the manor, Tim's clothing had taken on a more formal appearance; he often wore collared shirts and blazers, and if not he wore plain tops with a pair of faded jeans. That was not the case with this guy's style. At his disposal Tim had been given a black v-neck shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and a leather jacket similar to the one his apparent savior wore, except his had a cloth lining in it with a hood attached.

As far as Tim was concerned, the only way he'd ever dress like this was if he was undercover. He let out a huff, running his hand through his mop of dark hair to substitute for a brush. Turning to the side he straightened out the jacket, unable to stop marveling at how unusual he looked. That was when it hit him; of course he was going to look different. He was about to go sneaking out of Gotham. No one would think twice that it was him in this getup.

This guy was smarter than Tim had originally thought. He obviously knew a lot about Batman and the rest of the family, and had a connection to them somehow. What could have possibly happened that made this guy want to save a Robin? Why was he so hell bent on making sure that Tim didn't get thrown to the side? The questions had tugged at his mind since he'd first woken up, but so far he didn't have many theories. His only solution was to continue going along with whatever his guy had planned and see where it got him.

He emerged from the bathroom and walked over to the bed, shoving his feet into a pair of boots. They were a little big on his feet, but they would work for now. The man stood by the window, gazing out of it thoughtfully as the bright afternoon sun took over the sky. While they had intended to leave in the morning, a traffic jam right in the heart of the city had delayed their plans. It wasn't worth sitting in, and so they'd waited until the flow had resumed to leave. Tim wondered if the man even noticed that he was about ready to go, but as soon as he straightened the guy turned his attention to him, giving him a quick once over with his eyes. "Looks good. Paperwork is already taken care of, by the way."

Tim shrugged the bag over his shoulder, knowing the Robin suit was safely inside giving him a bit of comfort. He didn't know if Bruce was back in town yet, and he knew that he probably should have sent a message telling him he was okay. But he didn't dare to blow the cover that he had with this guy. If he was a danger to the Batfamily, then Tim had to find out before anything happened and he could warn Bruce. For now, he had to give this guy his undivided attention. "So what's the reason for leaving?"

"No point staying where you aren't welcomed," the man said, grimness sparking in his expression. "We won't be going far."

The teen followed the man out of the hospital, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head, hiding his features and also bracing himself against Gotham's chilly air. "Where to, then?"

"I have a place in Bludhaven," the man answered, leading him down the sidewalk. "Hope you don't mind a city worse than this one."

"I've been there a few times," Tim said, gaze glancing around the streets. He'd gone to visit Dick there, and from what Bruce had said and his own take on it, Bludhaven was nothing short of a disappointment. So much crime and bloodshed coated the streets that Bruce had been adamant that Tim stay away from it. Gotham had enough horrors as it was, and Tim didn't need to be exposed to anything worse, according to Bruce. He knew that if the Bat had it his way, Dick wouldn't even be living in Bludhaven, under constant stress and danger. "I know what I'm walking into."

The man gave half a smirk, but didn't bother directing it at Tim. "Good to know. It's been awhile since I've been here, so I don't exactly know where Batman has his main security feeds stationed."

Of course he'd want to avoid them. Tim knew he was waiting for some tip from him, so he spoke up, even though he felt like he was spilling all Bruce's secrets. "It's hard to avoid them, really. If we continue down this street we'll walk right into one positioned by the bank. If you want to avoid passing right through them, we'll have to take a side street."

The man thought on this a moment, and then nodded. "Later. You hungry?"

His question took Tim aback, and he blinked at the man. "Uh, a little."

Now the man looked to him, a single eyebrow raised, "You act like I'm out to kill you. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have risked my own ass to come save you in the first place."

Tim just shrugged, "I don't know who you are, but you seem to know everything you shouldn't. I have the right to be suspicious."

"Spoken like a true detective," the man said, and then led them to a diner a block away. It was a small place with minimal decoration, and a few TVs on various walls. Tim didn't protest as he followed him inside, for the first time in a few days he was starving. At least he wasn't being bound up somewhere in a crate with no food or sense of time. They sat in a booth in the corner of the room, facing each other and glancing up every now and then over their menus.

Tim chewed his lip thoughtfully, and then finally couldn't hold his question back anymore. "How are you so sure that Bruce isn't looking for me?"

"Just a hunch." Jason waved his hand towards the TV nearest to them and Tim turned around to see it. The sight on the screen made his heart drop, as much as he wanted to deny it. A televised news conference played across the screen, cameras flashing and reporters asking questions. Bruce Wayne stood outside Wayne Enterprises, talking away and answering questions with the same seriousness and charm he always possessed.

Tim didn't say a word to it and just turned back around and slid down slightly in his seat, staring at the laminated menu in front of him that seemed to mock him with its vibrant colors. There had to be a reason that Bruce wasn't out looking for him. No way would he choose a business meeting over looking for his missing partner. The evidence was striking, but he just looked back up at the man cautiously.

If he expected some sort of reaction, he didn't get it. The man looked as if he'd seen this coming from miles away, so unsurprised that it threatened to be startling. He shook his head at the screen, and then shrugged to Tim, "It's what he does. Wish I didn't have to admit it, kid."

"Did you guys have a falling out or something?" Tim asked, their conversation pausing as a waitress delivered them drinks and took their orders.

Once she had gone the man answered, "Something like that. We haven't talked in a long time."

"He does tend to piss people off," Tim said, stirring the ice in his drink with his straw.

The man let out a small, bitter chuckle. "He's good at it."

"I guess I just don't understand," Tim said, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "Bruce told me all about people that knew about us. But I don't remember him mentioning you."

A look passed over the man's face akin to him being shot. It peaked Tim's interest, but it was gone as fast as it had arrived. "He probably didn't think it was important. He never expected me to turn up again, after all."

Tim nodded slowly, "But we always expect him to show up."

"Always in our time of need," the man replied, his dark gaze finding Tim's. If he hadn't been so serious, if the far away look in his eyes didn't remind Tim of an abandoned, wounded animal, he probably wouldn't have listened as closely as he did. "That's the cruelest part about it, Tim. He gives up on everyone when you need him the most."

* * *

Nightwing was pretty sure he'd gone a full twenty four hours without sleep at this point. He blinked tiredly behind his mask, resisting the urge to rub at his face. The search throughout the night hadn't gotten them anywhere, none of Joker's minions making an appearance. Somehow they must have tipped off each other and now were just as hidden as the Joker himself. Bruce hadn't wanted to stop investigating, but Dick promised he would continue while his father dealt with real world matters.

" _It's better that at least one of us continues looking,"_ he had told his former mentor. _"If I stay on it while you're with the company, Tim will have someone looking for him at all times."_

Bruce hadn't resigned easily, but eventually gave in. If Dick could have gone to this conference for him he would have done it instantly. Instead he took the other job, which for now was just patrolling the streets during the daylight to see if he could pick up any leads. It amazed Dick how many crimes he'd stopped just by listening to talk among the citizens. So he stuck to the shadows, having to be more careful now that the night had gone, but nonetheless continued his investigation.

Currently he sat atop the roof of Gotham's arcade, scanning the streets for any sign of mischief. There were a few places nearby where criminals tended to flock; a small jewelry store, an ATM, even a bar a block away. Everything appeared to be quiet, the citizens going about their normal business. The diner straight across from him had customers walking in and out, from what he'd observed in the last ten minutes.

Looking at the sign made him realize just how much he'd been pushing his hunger down. He hadn't even eaten dinner when he found out that Tim was missing, just threw on his suit and left for Gotham. There had been no question of his involvement, only a slow burning anger that rose every hour that ticked by without success. He may have failed the last time a Robin went missing, he may not have been there for the last bird, but he'd be damned if he let anything happen to Tim. No more Robins had to suffer, never again.

The anger only emphasized how tired he was growing, blinking bleariness from his eyes. He was tempted to just walk into the diner and grab coffee to fuel him for a little while longer. It would take the edge off his nerves if he was lucky. He rose to his feet, nodding to himself. Yes, that was a good plan. Then he could continue surveying the rest of the city until Bruce called him.

" _Master Dick?"_

The voice came through the comm, momentarily distracting Nightwing from his plan. "Yes Alfred?"

" _I do believe you have not returned to the manor at all. I think it is best that you return and get some rest before the night comes about again."_

"I promised Batman I wouldn't stop searching," Nightwing replied.

" _I'm certain that he will understand you are no help to him if you are dead on your feet,"_ Alfred replied. _"Back to the manor for some rest. You can continue to search for Master Timothy tonight."_

Dick wanted to continue arguing, wanted to continue searching the city for as long as possible. But he was swaying on his feet, and Alfred had a point. All he had to do was get a couple hours of sleep and then he'd be ready to go back into the field. At least he could reconvene with Bruce beforehand and develop a new plan.

"Okay," he relented, "I'll head back."

He cast one last look at the scene below him, letting out a despondent sigh. Then he turned his back, setting his sights on the manor reluctantly.

 _C'mon, Tim. Where are you?_

* * *

Tim opened his eyes as the car came to a stop. They'd finally gotten to his new guardian's car (though Tim highly doubted it actually belonged to him since it had been hidden out of the public eye) and fought through the traffic caused by Bruce Wayne's conference. By the time they made it out of the city and through the half hour that separated Bludhaven from Gotham, the sky had grown dark. The two of them hadn't said much to each other during the ride, and Tim had taken the opportunity to rest. While he did feel better than when he first woke in the hospital, his injuries still throbbed, and he really hadn't caught up on sleep yet.

Now he sat up straight in his seat as the man parked the car, looking to Tim. "We're going to have to go on foot from here."

Tim raised an eyebrow, but the man stepped out before he could ask questions. The guy was full of surprises, and the teen decided it was best to just continue going along with it. He quickly opened the door and slid out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Most likely the car wouldn't even last until morning, and Tim figured the guy had his ways of getting another if they needed it. While Tim wasn't condoning thievery, it wasn't something he could worry about at the moment. Instead he followed beside the man, matching his pace. "I'm kind of surprised you live in Bludhaven. You seem to know Gotham pretty well."

"I grew up there," the man explained. "But Bludhaven serves the same purpose. Doesn't matter where you live, really, as long as you stay the same."

"Are you the same?"

"Full of questions, aren't you?" The man didn't look annoyed though, just amused. His blue eyes held a grin that didn't appear on his face. "Actually, no. For me, Bludhaven is a new start."

"Not the kind of clean slate I would have imagined," Tim muttered.

"Who said anything about it being clean?" The man didn't seem bothered by Tim's half alarmed expression, but his own features hardened as he stopped in his tracks.

Tim almost asked what made him freeze, then he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly a group of men moved out in front of them, taking up the sidewalk. From his peripheral vision Tim saw more of them come out from the alley behind them, and then move so that they completely surrounded the two in a circle. Instantly his mind was on alert, taking them in. He looked at the weapons, saw the glint of knives, the dark metal of a gun. Tim clenched his jaw, but other than that made no move-not yet.

His guardian didn't look at all fazed. "You all need something?"

"Yeah," their leader spoke up; a man of muscle with a tattoo of a snake curled around his neck. "Give us all you got and then you can be on your way."

"I don't think I have much that will interest you," Tim's guardian answered. "You're better off moving along."

"Really, pretty boy? Cause with that getup you ought to have something I'd like," the leader motioned to the two of them.

"Never thought I'd hear that nickname directed at me," the man mused. He glanced down at his clothes and tugged at his leather jacket, straightening it out. "Although you're not wrong."

"Enough," another man from the back spoke up. "Are you gonna hand over what you got, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?"

A sly smile passed over his guardian's face, and he looked to Tim with a knowing gaze. They had a silent conversation, and somehow Tim knew exactly what he was thinking. His muscles tensed as he felt the thrum in the air, and his guardian shrugged his shoulders, "Sure, we'll hand you what we've got."

Tim took the cues from his guardian. The man moved so fast it was nearly a blur, pulling two pistols from inside his jacket and using the back end to uppercut the leader. Tim dropped the bag he was carrying and spun around, catching the nearest man by the wrist as he attempted to cut his knife through the teen. Tim twisted the wrist so that the knife fell to the ground, then knocked the man out cold with his knee.

Another two lunged at him and he sent a kick to one's abdomen, then grabbing him by his shoulders he threw the attacker into the one rushing towards him. Tim turned, watching as his guardian moved so fast for having such a broad form. In only a few swift motions he had the three of his own attackers on the ground. The one with the gun came from behind, aiming for his back, when he grabbed the man's arm and locked it under his own, pulling hard. Tim almost winced at the sickening crack and the scream that followed, but instead kicked the gun out of the reach of any of their attackers.

"Didn't even have to use my own," his guardian said to no one in particular, setting his weapons back in their holsters. He nodded to Tim, "Let's go."

Tim grabbed the bag, only because of the Robin suit hidden within it, and ran after his guardian. They bolted down a side street, Tim on the man's heels as they darted through the slums. He smelled blood and dirt, along with other scents he didn't really want to identify. The man slowed after a while and pressed himself against the side of a building, glancing out into the street. Tim leaned out to try and get a sense of where they were, and raised his eyebrows. They were right by a police station, and it briefly occurred to him that he may run into Dick, since this was his city after all.

The mystery man waited a minute, then when he decided it was all clear he motioned for Tim to follow. To Tim's surprise, they made their way towards the police station. Did he live inside or something? They grew closer and closer before the man switched tactics and walked into an alley, reaching down and removing the cover to a sewer system. Without bothering to explain he jumped into the hole he created, and Tim simply followed, climbing down the ladder and pulling the cover back over where they entered.

He was only further surprised when below he didn't find himself in the sewers, but in some sort of shelter. No, not just a shelter, a very large bomb shelter. Tim followed his guardian down a large flight of stairs, stood behind him as he opened a pair of large metal doors that were as big as the wall itself. The man walked in and Tim followed, astounded even though the contents were minimal.

The room beyond was huge, a giant computer taking up most of the front wall, reminiscent of the Batcave itself. On the far left wall sat a trophy shelf filled with books, and a few mementos that to Tim meant nothing. On the far right wall was an array of weapons, from guns to knives to various staffs. This wasn't just a home, Tim realized. This was a hideout.

"Well, Tim," the man said, crossing his arms as he turned to the boy. "This is it. Welcome home."

For the first time since he'd met the man, he was at a loss for words. All he could do was stare, and try to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

 _Who are you?_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: A short but important chapter for you all. I was going to wait until the beginning of next week to post this, but I figured I have made you all wait long enough for updates. Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

"Any particular reason you have a hideout underneath a police station? Instead of, I don't know, a normal apartment?"

Jason spun his chair around so that he was facing Tim, who sat across the room with his arms crossed over his chest. Ever since he'd brought the teen to the base Tim had sunken into one of his quiet moods, the kind that Jason was quickly catching onto their purpose. It wasn't that the boy felt threatened or angry or even scared out of his wits. Most people would have jumped straight to shouting accusations the moment they found Jason's hideaway. That's what he had prepared himself for; some sort of outcry, a demand for answers, a challenge to a fight. But Tim Drake did not appear to be anything more than suspiciously curious.

Once he realized that Tim wasn't about to do anything more than go mute, Jason figured out that was simply his default mode when he started thinking, and trying to decode everything in front of him. Even for someone who faced the unusual every day, it was still a decent amount to process. Jason hadn't bothered to interrupt that, just shown Tim to his room and gave him free reign of the place. Like he had expected, there had been no problems otherwise.

It appeared that after nearly twelve hours of silence Tim was ready to talk. Not necessarily talk, Jason thought, but to play another round of twenty questions. As much as it probably drove Tim crazy, Jason got a bit of a thrill from it. He didn't mean to, really, but it amused him to watch the teenager wrack his mind for answers. If this was the kid who had managed to figure out who Batman was, he had to wrap his mind around the identity of the stranger who took him in sooner or later. Then again, he doubted Tim expected it to be someone who, as far as he probably knew, was still six feet under and very, very dead.

But he would definitely entertain the teen's questions without complaint. "Is Batman the only one allowed to have a base of operations? I think you're forgetting I have an alter ego too."

"Which you haven't even told me about," Tim answered, half glowering at him. Since he'd arrived he'd purposely put distance between the two of them, sitting where he could see Jason at all times. Even his posture had tensed, and while he made no effort to spring into action, his body language indicated he was ready to pounce if the need arose. "Why were you even after the Joker, anyway?"

"We have unfinished business," Jason replied, leaning back in his chair. Oddly enough, this type of interaction relaxed him more than anything. Maybe it was because for once in his life Jason didn't have to be the one guessing. This time, he had all the answers. "He kind of ruined my life."

"He does that to a lot of people."

"Exactly." Jason didn't miss a beat, and crossed his arms leisurely over his chest. He knew he was being vague, but he couldn't just give all his cards away. He wanted Tim to make an assumption about who he was before he handed out his identity. Either it would drive the teen closer to him or farther away, and Jason was hoping it would result in the former. It was a dangerous game to be playing with a boy who was clearly on the path to becoming another Bruce. Danger, however, was something Jason knew how to handle.

The answer didn't give any ease to the teen's mind. Tim just narrowed his gaze, "So you tracked him down to what, kill him?"

"He deserves it, doesn't he?" Jason threw the question out there, unable to avoid doing so. "After all the lives he's taken, the innocent people that he's hurt and murdered, I'd say he deserves a fate even worse than death."

What Jason expected was to start hearing a lecture. What he thought Tim would do was try to imitate Batman's infamous glare and echo the man's speech on why killing was wrong, and how it made you just like the enemy, and all the other parts that Jason chose to ignore. Instead, Tim tipped his head up slightly, "You're right. So then why didn't you kill him and deal with me after?"

"I decided it wasn't the right time," Jason answered through his surprise, trying to keep the upper hand. He was certain that his slight hesitation told the teen enough. "And it's not exactly a burden on me, is it? He's Batman's job to take care of, if he can't bother to keep track of his partners."

"But Batman will never do it," Tim said with such assurance even someone who didn't have a clue who Batman was would believe his statement.

Jason had to bite back the bitterness in his tone. "Believe me, I know."

Tension sparked in the air, and Jason wanted nothing to do with it. He stood up, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. Then he walked over to his wall of weapons, grabbing two collapsible staffs off a rack. Just because he didn't use them in battle didn't mean he couldn't collect them. Besides, they were a staple of his old Robin career, and they made good training weapons anyways. He walked forwards a bit and then tossed one to Tim, who caught it with one hand. Instantly he brought it to its full length, and Jason held his out to the side and did the same. "On your feet, Tim."

The teen didn't protest against the order. Intrigue passed over his features and he pushed the chair back against the wall as he stood, shrugged off his own jacket and then positioned himself in front of Jason with only a few feet of distance between them. Jason adjusted his stance, the weight of the staff in his hands familiar yet foreign. It had been a long while since he'd fought like this, but his confidence didn't wane at the thought. Out of practice or not, he still knew what he was doing.

To his benefit, he had much more fighting experience than Tim.

They both waited to make the first move, and when the teen realized Jason wouldn't he sprung forwards, swinging low. Jason parried the hit and retaliated with quick movements, forcing Tim to go on the defensive. Their staffs clashed hard together and Tim ducked underneath Jason's next swipe, then thrust the staff upwards. Jason sidestepped it and brought the end of his staff upwards in a swift action, nailing Tim hard in the chest.

Tim grunted in pain and stumbled back, his gaze alert but still thoughtful. "Killing is in your job description, then? I could see why you and Bruce don't get along."

"I never killed anyone when I knew him," Jason explained, adjusting his grip on the staff. "Well, to him that's up for debate. He didn't like to believe me towards the end."

They circled each other, Tim's fast racing thoughts nearly flickering across his face. "You use guns. Batman doesn't allow those in the field. Is that what he had a problem with?"

"Not back then, but I'm sure he won't like it now." Jason swung high this time, Tim catching the blow and throwing him back, ending up getting a decent hit to his shoulder. Jason clenched his jaw at the pain and brought his staff up as Tim brought his down, locking them in a brief stalemate as they pushed their weight against each other.

For the first time since they'd met, Jason saw real anger in Tim's eyes, his inner frustration boiling over. Jason could see it all so clearly with their faces only separated by their interlocked staffs. The boy's blue gaze intensely searched his own, trying to figure out the missing pieces that he just couldn't grasp. "Who _are_ you?"

"Oh c'mon, Tim. Where's that detective genius that I've heard so much about?" Jason shoved the boy off, allowing Tim to stumble backwards. He spun the staff in his hand before brandishing it with two hands again, smirking the teen's way. "How can you figure out Batman's identity, but mine is driving you damn near insane?"

"Maybe if you didn't talk in circles I'd actually get somewhere," Tim seethed, launching himself at Jason once more.

"I shouldn't have to give you many hints," Jason argued, tripping the boy with his staff and jumping behind him. As Tim stumbled forwards Jason brought the staff around and pulled Tim back against him, the staff digging into the boy's ribs as he stood pinned. An aggravated sound left Tim's throat as he realized he'd been trapped. Jason spoke to him from behind, "Bruce is turning you into a younger version of himself. You have a brain. Use it."

He released the teen, kicking him in the back, but Tim turned swiftly and launched right back at him. They traded blow after blow, neither relenting. The teen was small, short for a boy and without much bulk. He made up for it with his speed, and the longer they fought the more Jason had to admire him. The kid may not have had an upbringing that gave him an advantage, but he had made up for it with his determination. Tim Drake didn't need talent, not when he had skill.

As far as skill went, Jason was levels ahead of him. Still, the teen put up quite the fight, and Jason was glad that he actually had to give the fight back instead of easily tossing the boy aside. He swung out and nearly struck Tim straight in the face, but the teen dodged and spun past the attack, using the same momentum to strike Jason and send him staggering backwards.

"Turning the attack back on your enemy. Good," Jason said. He then swooped down at Tim during their pause, using the staff to knock Tim's feet out from under him. The teen fell flat on his back, and Jason positioned the end of his weapon at the boy's neck. "But not good enough."

Tim glared up at him, staying on the ground as Jason moved the staff away from his neck, spinning it in his hands once more. "Everything in your head is admirable, Tim. But when you're up against enemies like the League of Assassins, your fighting skills won't save you. Not as they are now."

"Batman taught me-"

"I can tell," Jason replied, not needing to hear whatever else Tim had to say in regards to that. It was ingrained in his style; the same concepts that Jason had learned, the little tricks that Tim used were all courtesy of the Bat's training regime. "But he trained me too. And how many times have I kicked your ass today?"

It didn't seem like Tim wanted to admit to that, and just continued to stare up at him with a hard expression. Jason, however, was aware of just how right he was. "Bruce has given you a set of skills and exercises, but gives you more kevlar instead of advice. You could stand to learn more, if you want to survive."

"So what are you suggesting?" Tim sat up, his hands gripping his staff tightly like it was his lifeline to the world.

"I'll train you in ways that Bruce refuses to," Jason explained. "I've been around the world gaining skills, and I'll pass them onto you, that way you actually know how to defend yourself."

"I do know how to defend myself," Tim protested, sending half a glare to him. "Just because the Joker got a hold of me doesn't mean I'm helpless."

"I didn't say you were," Jason responded, the words taking him back to the day that spawned every action he'd taken thus far. He knew that he had been helpless against the Joker, no matter how many different ways he imagined the scenario playing out. After he had risen, he became determined to prove just what Tim was saying now: just because he had been beaten once didn't make him useless or defenseless. "You're not weak. You put up a decent fight. But you could be better, with more skills than just enough to survive. Bruce taught you how to hide. I'll teach you how to fight back."

Tim had the grace to look somewhat impressed, and then gave a slow nod of his head. "Okay, fine. I'll...let you mentor me."

Everything was falling into place nicely. He'd gotten Tim to come with him, they'd escaped to Bludhaven without a hitch, and now the teen had agreed to be trained under his guidance. Every phase of his plan was coming together, and while he wasn't certain how long the next would take, he was on the fast track to getting his vengeance. After all, once he brought Tim fully to his side there would be no stopping him. Batman would suffer without his Robin, and see him partnered with a villain no less.

Jason held back a grin at the teen's agreement, and settled with saying, "Good to hear it."

But Tim just continued to give him an inquisitive stare, as if he had finally started to catch onto something important. "You said you trained under Batman. That he probably wouldn't expect to see you back."

"That's what I said," Jason confirmed without much enthusiasm.

But the pieces were clicking together in Tim's brain; Jason could tell by the way his blue eyes sparked, the way he searched Jason like the words were written all over his face. He was reading him like a book, pulling out the details and finally making sense of them. "You have a grudge against the Joker. And you know all about the Robin line because…"

Jason waited patiently, meeting Tim's thoughtful gaze as the facts all connected in his head. Once they did, the realization hit at once. All of Tim's energy seemed to drain out of him as the brightness melted off his face, the grip he had on his staff slackening. In its place remained nothing but a wide eyed stare, his mouth opened as if he wanted to speak but couldn't believe the words that were balancing on his tongue. "You're…"

"Too good to be true, right?" Jason said with a wicked smile. "Congrats, Tim, you're just as smart as they say. You can call me Jason. Jason Todd."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your continuing support for this story! It is really keeping me motivated to update often. Not much to say on this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Let me know your thoughts!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

He would not be too late.

Batman kept repeating the mantra over and over again in his head as he raced through the city streets. His feet seemed to barely touch the rooftops as he rushed, cape whipping behind him in the harsh wind that threatened to blow him backwards. Another obstacle, of course, to try and throw him off track. The Bat grit his teeth and pushed onward, cutting through the air as he dove to roof after roof, following a trail only he could see.

In the back of his mind he knew that he should have a plan. He should have had multiple scenarios playing through his mind, every escape at the ready. But all he could think of was his partner, expecting him. All he could see was Tim, bloodied and beaten, and screaming out for help. It made him run faster, it made the Bat nearly succumb to the ever growing chasm of fear in his soul. He would not fail his Robin. He would not, could not, let it happen again.

This time he would make it.

Laughter filled his ears, manic and uncontrolled, about a joke that he didn't get. The closer he came to his destination, the louder it grew until it was almost overpowering. It turned the Bat's blood cold and hot all at once, and as he leapt from the roof and landed in front of the warehouse it gave him the strength to break down the door with one hard kick. How many times would the Joker taint his family? How much more of this torture would his sons have to endure?

How many times would he have to hold himself back from crossing that line?

In the middle of the room the boy was sprawled out, covered in bruises and blood. His face was buried in the floor, hair matted, the colorful uniform faded and soiled. Batman rushed towards him, the laughter threatening to make his ears bleed, sharp as glass, painful as a blade. He dropped by the Robin's form and helped him to sit up, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "Tim! It's alright, I've got you."

The boy lifted his head and all laughter ceased. It left a stark silence as the young Robin looked up at him with wild blue eyes that glistened with unshed tears. Blood streaked his face, dripped from his hair, black and blue dotting his cheeks. But it wasn't the injuries that shook the Bat to the core. He was looking at his partner, looking into his face and his eyes, but it was all wrong, from the angles of his cheekbones to the shade of his irises. Even his voice came out hoarse, but in a tone that didn't belong to him. "Bruce?"

The Bat could only breathe a response as the world crashed in around him all over again. "Jason."

* * *

Bruce jolted awake, his eyes snapping open as the dream vanished. He sucked in a breath, taking in the late afternoon brightness of his office, the usual soft creaking of Wayne Manor. It may have just been a nightmare, but his heart still raced in his chest, as if he really had been chasing a lead. The image of that bruised and bloodied face, those eyes of full of a broken spirit took the longest to fade. It made his stomach knot, his heart dare to stop as a sick feeling of failure and grief overtook him. That was his son, beaten and broken. That was his son alone and afraid.

That was his _son_.

His dead son.

It hurt, the grief striking him right through the heart, but Bruce knew that he could not let it swallow him like it had in the beginning. He pushed the image away, pushed down the pain, and dared himself to focus on the present rather than the past that he couldn't change. Releasing the breath he slowly sat up, rubbing his face as he looked down at his desk. He had come in after yet another dead end had left him anxious and angry, needing space away from the cave to try and clear his head.

If anything, his mind only became more and more clouded. He picked up the papers that he'd fallen asleep on, staring at the adoption forms but not bothering to read over the words. He knew what they said almost by heart, he'd combed through them enough when he had adopted his other sons. All he wanted to do was pick up a pen and scrawl his name across the lines, claim Tim as his own in a desperate effort to get him back. As if making it official would have the boy come waltzing into the room, as if it guaranteed his safe return.

But nothing was for certain, not even Tim accepting the adoption, and that scared Bruce more than anything. He set the papers down and massaged his forehead, muttering a curse under his breath that Alfred would have ridiculed him for if he'd heard it. The wooden doors opened, and Bruce lifted his head, wondering if the butler had read his mind and actually came to lecture him. Instead Dick walked in, rubbing the back of his neck. It had been a while since Bruce had seen his eldest son look absolutely wrecked, and he had to swallow down anger at the sight. This whole thing wasn't just affecting Tim, but taking a toll on his other son as well.

"I thought I sent you home to rest." Bruce shuffled the papers casually and opened the top drawer, placing them inside and shutting it a little harder than necessary.

Dick gave him a sheepish half smile, eyes rimmed red from tiredness, "Couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well keep looking."

"You're going to run yourself into the ground at this rate," Bruce chided. Yes, Dick was a grown man now, and could take care of himself. But even Alfred had to get on Bruce's behavior at times. As his adoptive father, Bruce still could do the same.

"So are you," Dick countered, shooting him a knowing look. "We're headed down the same road."

He knew that, but he didn't have a choice. If he didn't dedicate every possible moment to this search, the unthinkable would happen again. The dream only put Bruce more on edge, making him feel like every second was just slipping through his fingers. "Any results?"

Dick shook his head sadly, falling into a chair in front of the desk. He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, the lines of exhaustion more prominent than ever around his eyes. "We're getting nowhere. Maybe we should start looking at this differently."

"I have been," Bruce answered, clasping his hands on the desk. "This is too complex for someone like the Joker. He had to have been working with a partner this time in order to pull this off. It's rare that he actually works with anyone, but it's happened in the past."

"So who could it be?" Dick frowned, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "What could they stand to gain from capturing a Robin?"

"Batman's cooperation," Bruce thought aloud, but shook his head. "If that were the case, they would have made their terms clear by now. This isn't a ransom case."

"Then why? It just doesn't make sense," Dick said, rubbing his forehead like the conversation was giving him a headache. "To keep Batman busy? They're only making it worse for themselves by pissing us off. I've heard the talk, Bruce. Criminals are staying at bay because they know what's better for them right now."

"I don't know," Bruce said, and hated himself for uttering those words. He was the detective, he should have had it all figured out by now. Instead Tim was still holed up in his captive's grasp. The 'if only' thoughts whispered in the back of his mind, and Bruce shoved them down. He could blame himself fully later.

But where were they to go from here? Dick said nothing, his expression almost at war with itself, like he wanted to say something positive but was feeling the weight of defeat too strongly. Bruce could barely take it, and pushed back his chair as he stood abruptly. "We need to start looking into other possible suspects. I need you to see if any of their recent activities line up with Joker's."

"Okay," Dick said, looking up at his former mentor. "What are you going to do, then?"

For a moment the image of that broken boy flashed before his eyes, the massacred picture of the son he had known. It remained in his vision only for a moment, before changing to Tim's face, now bruised and beaten. The thought struck a chord so deeply rooted in his being that Bruce had to refrain from punching the nearest wall. Instead he held back, using the thoughts as fuel to the fire and headed out of the office, a new wave of determination overtaking him. "I'm going to figure out what brought Joker to the pier in the first place."

* * *

Tim didn't know what to think.

At first, his conclusion had seemed completely illogical. The name was one he'd only heard talked about in harsh whispers or strained voices from the moment he first met Batman. Tim had seen the knife-stabbing agony in Bruce's eyes whenever he stopped in front of the memorial case in the cave. Alfred would go quiet, the lines in his face becoming much more present under the memory of the boy. Even Dick became solemn, head ducked in guilt and shame, whenever the topic of the second Robin came onto the table. They didn't avoid it necessarily, they'd been as open as possible about it with him, but Tim knew that didn't shove away the pain. Maybe the Batman acted like he was impassive, but he was driven by it. He succumbed to it. And that was what had made Tim take up the role of Robin the first place: to save the Bat from himself, and to honor a memory of a fallen Robin so that his sacrifice did not go in vain.

He'd spent so much time trying to live up to Jason's legacy, trying to be the best Robin he could be, that he never imagined what it would be like to have his predecessor standing right in front of him. There was also the fact that he had been dead, and as far as Tim's experience went people didn't typically come crawling out from their graves. But Jason didn't look like he'd wandered directly from a graveyard back into their lives. He'd grown up, in various ways, and looked like any regular young adult.

Except that Jason Todd was far from the average person.

Tim had foreseen the results of his plan to uncover either an enemy of the Bats or a new ally. He had not accounted for the part where Bruce's second Robin came back from the dead and took the teen under his wing. So now, stuck within the boundaries of Jason's hideout, he could only see all of his expectations and well thought out backup plans turning to dust.

What sort of chaos had he managed to walk into?

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're gawking." Jason leaned against a table near the weapons wall, his two pistols in pieces before him. He cleaned at the various parts with a cloth, glancing at Tim with half a smirk on his face.

Tim had complied with Jason's orders to work on his various hand-to-hand combat skills. Currently that meant practicing throwing punches at a bag that the young man had set up for him. Apparently his bunker had plenty of training materials, but for the most part Jason kept them out of sight. "Can't say I saw this one coming."

Jason barked out laughter, apparently amused by the comment. "Do you even know our world, Tim? The dead rise, the evil live, and all that we love crumbles before us."

The explanation fell right on the line between logical and twisted. Even if Jason was right, it didn't make the situation any less shocking. Tim shook his head and threw another punch to the bag, trying to put at least a little focus into his practice session. "So how are you alive?"

"Lazarus Pit," Jason replied simply, picking up another piece of his gun.

Tim paused and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Ra's al Ghul's doing?"

"Talia," Jason corrected, glancing up from his work.

"Ah," Tim responded, as if it explained everything. In reality, it only brought more questions to Tim's mind. One explanation only seemed to lead to another complex web of events. He wasn't so sure if there would ever be an end, and just how much information he was missing. "Any reason why?"

"Couldn't tell you. She mentioned something about owing the Bat, feeling bad about some history between them. Honestly it wasn't my main concern at the time." Jason pieced his gun back together completely, weighing it in his hands and fiddling with the trigger.

Tim moved his attention from the bag in front of him to the former Robin. "Bruce doesn't know, does he?"

Jason didn't answer, but at the mention of his old mentor's name a flash appeared in his eyes. It told Tim everything; Bruce had no idea that Jason was alive. How long had he been up and walking? How long had they all been unaware? A rock seemed to settle in Tim's stomach as he thought over his own tenure as Robin.

How long had Jason been dead before he took up the mantle?

Jason set the pistol down on the table and made a face at him, looking more displeased by the second. "You're killing me all over again."

Suddenly Tim regretted ever opening his mouth. "Sorry, I'll cut the questions."

"No, I don't care about that," Jason replied as he walked over. "I'm talking about your skills. Even your punches could use some work."

"Thanks," Tim muttered, dropping his arms from their stance. One time during a particularly difficult training session, Dick had said to Tim that it was okay he was struggling. When Tim dared to compare himself to the former Robins, to Jason especially, the eldest had simply shaken his head.

" _Jason was a born fighter,"_ Dick had told him. _"He fought even when his instincts told him to run."_

But that had never been Dick's reasoning for why Jason had died. The simple answer to that was it had been the Joker's fault. No one blamed Jason for what happened, not to Tim at least. He wondered if the former Robin knew that the only one they considered responsible was the mad man himself. But Tim didn't ask that as Jason approached and stopped the bag from swinging. "You're still hesitating. You can't just throw half your weight into the punch. If you're going to hit someone you have to throw your entire body into the hit and give it all your force."

Jason motioned him backwards and then swung his fist towards the bag, putting the force of his entire body into the punch. His hit landed hard, the sound of it echoing throughout the entire room. The bag moved much more than Tim had been able to shake it, and Jason drew back and placed his hand on the bag to make it settle. Tim's eyebrows rose, impressed. "Who taught you that one?"

"Talia. Before I met Bruce, actually." Jason shook out his shoulder, then looked to Tim. "What are you staring at now?"

The teen hadn't meant to have such a peculiar look on his face, but it was how he felt on the inside. He shrugged, not sure how to say exactly what he was thinking. "I thought I knew who you were, that's all. Now I'm not so sure."

"Trust me," Jason said, "even if you'd known me before I died, you wouldn't recognize me now."

"To be fair, if you'd known me before I joined with Batman you wouldn't recognize me, either," Tim responded, taking his position in front of the punching bag again. He stared it down a moment and then slid into his stance, then reeled back and threw all that he had into the punch. His fist connected with the bag and sent it rocking, and the teen realized just how much more powerful it felt than his previous attempts.

"Our similarities are striking," Jason answered sarcastically. Bitterness underlined his tone, and he let it show. "Just remember that we all end up in the same boat sooner or later. We all get replaced, usually when we don't see it coming."

"I never wanted to replace you." Tim turned away from the punching bag and faced the young man, having to raise his head to look him in the eyes. Jason was much bigger than him, taller and broader, but that did not deter the teen from attempting to be defiant. Maybe Jason thought he wasn't a force to be reckoned with, but he had survived fight after fight before the second Robin's return. He had fought with Batman and the Titans, he'd thrown himself into the midst of danger and come out on top each time. That gave him enough courage to look his predecessor in the eye and be firm. "Maybe I looked up to you, maybe I wanted to be like you, but it was never my intention to dishonor you."

"It didn't have to be your intention," Jason said, expression stoney and hard to read. "You're not the one who had the final say."

He stepped away from Tim and walked away, and somehow the teen knew the conversation was over. Maybe he still did blame Tim to some extent, but the teen had caught what Jason hadn't outright said. When it came down to it, this whole thing was about Bruce's actions. The whole story didn't matter, the reasons why Tim became Robin would only fall on deaf ears. Tim knew what Jason refused to hear, but he couldn't say Jason's words went right over his head. The warnings sat in the back of his mind, and Tim just couldn't shake them off completely.

"Bruce will find you, Jason," Tim warned, looking over his shoulder. It wasn't meant to sound threatening, only to inform the man about what line he was walking. Not only that, but Tim needed to hear himself say it and convince himself that Bruce was searching to find him. Now that the teen knew who his savior was, he couldn't bring himself to just run back to Gotham and rat Jason out. There was a reason Jason hadn't shown himself to the rest of the Bats. That left Bruce to figure out where Tim had gone, and the teen still had faith he would.

He had to come, because Tim was his Robin and he was missing. Batman needed his Robin. That was all there was to it. "You'll have no choice but to face him, then. So what happens next?"

"Don't be so confident in that," Jason turned back to him, steely gaze nearly boring into Tim. It was enough to quiet the teen and any of his brewing protests. "Get back to work. You'll need all the practice you can get."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here is a bit of a longer chapter, and I believe it is the longest chapter in any of my stories on here. I just want to give everyone a bit of a warning that I am in school and the work load has picked up a lot within the last week, so my updates may become slow. I promise that I will not be abandoning this story, so bear with me through this busy time! I will do my best to make it up to everyone with longer, well proof-read chapters. :)**

 **I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

Tim felt like he was repeating a part of his life he thought he'd put behind him.

Every morning he awoke at dawn, as if his mind and body already anticipated what was to come. He'd blink into the darkness of his room as his eyes landed on the glowing numbers of the bedside clock. He knew that he wasn't going to be forced to get out of bed and he could easily choose to sleep later. But Tim was never able to do that, and pulled himself together as soon as he was awake. It was almost exactly the way he had carried out his morning routine when he was training with Bruce, but without the excitement. Tim wasn't nervous, but neither was he all that eager. His only motivation was his growing curiosity towards Jason, and wanting more answers than questions. That, and the fact that he figured Jason could teach him a few decent tricks.

In the quiet of his room he went through the mental exercises that Jason had passed onto him, having learned them all during his travels around the world. They were meant to help the teen find his center and focus, to clear his head completely. It took some concentration to banish all the questions and wheels that constantly turned in his mind, though once he found that sense of peace the exercises proved effective. Then he'd make his way downstairs, where Jason would be waiting for him. It was like the man never slept, and if he did it couldn't have been for long. They would share a few morning pleasantries and then move on and begin training, which would last almost all of the daylight hours. Not that Tim ever really saw the daylight, considering they were underground.

Because Tim had been fighting for months now, they spent most of their time sparring with one another. Sometimes they used weapons, but much of it was hand-to-hand combat, which Jason insisted Tim needed the most work. He was smart enough to figure out how to use his surroundings to his advantage or how to use certain weapons. But without strong fundamentals, he wouldn't be getting anywhere but six feet under, as far as Jason was concerned. So they sparred, facing off against each other.

And everyday Jason kicked his ass.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"I can't believe Bruce even let you in the field," Jason said to him after they had been training together for almost a week, standing over Tim with his hand on his hip, a frown not on his lips but in his eyes. "Are the criminals getting weaker or something?"

He didn't wait for an answer and reached down, pulling the teen upwards from where he had been sprawled on his stomach. Tim yanked away as soon as Jason hauled him to his feet, rubbing his wrist which he'd ungracefully landed on and luckily had not broken. He had to resist looking away in partial shame at the young man's assessment of his skills. "Sorry that I'm not a natural born fighter. I've worked to get where I am."

"I'm not saying you're awful," Jason replied, crossing his arms. "But you need to be more aggressive. You're going up against Gotham's worst scum. They don't need to be gently nudged to the GCPD."

It was hard for Tim to tell whether Jason was just a brutally honest person or purposely tried to rile him and get under his skin. Tim figured it was a mixture of both, a tactic that seemed ingrained in the young adult's personality. But even though he knew exactly what the young man intended with his words, it didn't lessen their effect. Even with the smallest comments, Tim found himself rethinking all that he knew. Like it or not, Jason was _good_ at it.

Maybe it was because Tim done his best trying to live up to Jason for so long that having him there, now judging him, made it all the more difficult. The look on his face bore into him in a way that differed from Batman's intense stare. It was like a stab to his pride, to his self-assurance, to the very belief that he had in his crime fighting capabilities, logical and physical. For the first time since taking up the mantle, he felt the need to defend that he was capable of being Robin. Tim dropped his arm, giving Jason a hard look, "You only need to retaliate enough to get them to yield. Justice, not vengeance."

"Yeah, and look where that got me." Jason let the snarky comment hang in the air, his blue green eyes holding no sympathy.

Tim could nearly see the smoke and flames of that dreaded day flickering in Jason's gaze. The young man shook his head, the lines of his face suddenly seeming harsher. He scoffed, turning his back and walking towards the table where his weapons lay. "Six months of training and he thinks you're ready for the real world."

"I trained for a year," Tim corrected, staying rooted where he stood. "Bruce didn't want-"

"A second mistake? I'm sure. The Replacement has to be better, anyways."

Tim resisted the urge to visibly flinch at the words. Every time the subject came up, the teen wanted to just shake Jason to try and force him to listen. It was impossible for him to get across that Tim had never wanted that, had only been looking out for Batman and the people he protected. When he became Robin, it had been to carry on a legacy, not turn it all on himself. He sighed, "Jason-"

The man whipped around, and Tim froze as he felt the edge of Jason's knife pressed against his throat. There was no pressure, no pain, but the whisper of its sharpness fluttered across Tim's skin. Jason did not make any move to harm him, but he stared the boy straight in the eyes, his gaze burning into him, pulsing and crackling like a tempered fire. Every sense of precision and patience echoed back at Tim, but held a threat that warned him to be on his guard.

"Fight," Jason ordered, his voice low and dangerous, "and don't hold back."

Tim's expression hardened, his senses heightening at the young man's words. All sense of the conversation evaporated, and any words he had wanted to say disappeared from his tongue. He grabbed a hold of Jason's wrist and yanked it away from his throat, while at the same time landing a hard kick to his opponent's chest. He wrangled the knife out of his hand, throwing it out of sight and looking back to Jason just as the man dove for him. In an instant they were in each other's faces, hands blocking and punching, kicks aimed for all the weak points they could reach. They were a blur of combat, a dangerous dance with a flurry of limbs.

There wasn't much time to think, either. Tim grit his teeth, side stepping a punch but having his feet knocked out from under him. His back hit the ground hard and he winced, forcing himself to roll back to his feet before Jason could pin him down. The young man did not let him off easy and continued to go at him, and Tim barely blocked the next hit as he jumped backwards, putting distance between the two of them. Jason just eyed him with that same dark glint in his gaze, his expression holding nothing but intensity. "Giving up already?"

"Just thinking," Tim answered, trying to come up with a plan. Whether Jason was an expert fighter or not, he was still just a man, and all men had the same weak points. He was much bigger than Tim, and fast, but Tim was smaller and more lithe. He could use that to his advantage.

"That's your problem," Jason said, and lunged for him, managing to get Tim trapped in a headlock. The teen squirmed, aware of the pressure but trusting that Jason wouldn't take the opportunity to snap his neck. He was right, but he did get thrown hard against the ground again, falling onto his hands and knees.

It kept happening like that, over and over. Every time he thought he had gained the upper hand Jason made a point to crush his attempts. Jason sent a kick, though not with full force, to his side, forcing the teen to his feet. "Stop holding back, Tim. You're acting like you want to yield."

"I'm not," Tim hissed, his heart hammering from exertion and his rising irritation. His hands curled into tighter fists, his muscles aching from being taken down so many times.

"You are," Jason said, and in the back of his mind Tim knew what he was trying to do. His gaze only hardened further as the young man stood looking extremely unaffected by any of Tim's hits. "Get angry, feel something!"

 _He's just instigating._ Tim knew that, knew that if he let emotion get in the way he wouldn't be seeing the battle clearly. But he was so, so tired of being beaten, the muscles in his back screaming that he better not fall again. All he could see was Jason standing there, towering over him with no bruises visible, not even looking the least bit sore. Staring straight into his soul, picking out the parts of him that weren't good enough. Judging him.

It angered him to no end.

Jason came at the teen again, and something in Tim halted. He quit thinking of plans and possibilities, stopped trying to strategize as the floodgates opened. The battle sharpened and blurred at the edges all at once, overtaking his consciousness. Acting on pure instinct he dodged the attack, and then with a cry he rammed his shoulder into Jason's chest, catching him off guard. The teen ran with the rush of sudden energy in his veins, not giving his opponent a chance to react. He sent a clenched fist straight into his mentor's abdomen, and then dropped low and swept his foot under Jason's already weakened stance. The man fell onto his back, and then suddenly Tim found himself thinking once more, strategizing so quickly the plans didn't have much time to form coherently. He leapt into a fighting position over the man, his foot pressed into Jason's neck.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, and then gave as much of a nod as he could with a foot pressed against his airway. "Took you long enough to catch on."

"What?" The world around him suddenly hit much harder than the blur he'd been fighting in, the whirlwind coming to an immediate halt. Tim could hear the blood pounding in his ears, feel the beat of his heart, his panted breaths. Sweat clung to his skin from the exertion, black locks of hair plastered to his face. He felt wild, and he supposed he looked the part too.

Jason swatted at his foot and Tim drew it back, watching as his new mentor stood. The almost deadly shine to his eyes had faded, but his stony expression remained. "It's high time you learned to trust your instincts instead of relying solely on logic."

"You can't go into a fight with no plan," Tim argued. "That's just asking for a disaster."

"And you can't go into a fight without passion, either." Jason poked his finger firmly into his chest, causing Tim to stumble backwards a step. "The fight has to come from inside of you, otherwise you won't stand a chance. You can't just see it in your head, you have to feel it in your veins. You have to want to win with your entire being."

"So planning ahead won't get me anywhere?"

"It's not enough," Jason answered. "I'm not telling you to be blinded by emotion. But if you don't allow yourself to feel a drive, what are you fighting for? Why do you even try if you deny your instincts?"

Tim stared into Jason's gaze, narrowing his eyes as they stood locked in a silent confrontation. The harshness in Jason's blue green eyes was like staring into a storm, flashes of emotion like lightning that dared to blind the teen. But he stood and endured the intensity, hands curled at his sides, trying to figure out the man behind the metaphorical mask. This was how Jason fought, with anger and ferocity, with steadiness and resilience. But what was his drive? What did he fight for now?

Part of Tim wanted to ask, but the flood in Jason's eyes drowned his curiosity. Just having this stand off drained him of the will to do so, but he refused to break so easily. They stayed still as stone, locked in each other's gazes, waiting for the other to stand down. The seconds ticked by painfully slow, until finally Tim had enough and looked away, just as Jason decided to brush past him. "There is animal inside all of us," Jason said as he walked away. "Sometimes we have to let it out."

"At what cost?" Tim asked it over his shoulder.

Jason picked his knife up off the floor, flipping it in his hand. "Depends on the fight."

He set it down on the table and approached Tim, the storm in his eyes replaced by pure focus, sharp and ready. "Again. We have a long way to go."

* * *

It had taken Bruce more time than he wanted to admit in order to figure out what was going on.

He'd holed himself up in the cave, Alfred silently bringing him food and drinks that remained untouched. The butler knew that nothing he could say would make the Bat feel any better, and that his nerves were so shot that any comment would easily send him over the edge. Bruce appreciated the understanding, his eyes boring into the computer as he scanned over every detail he could find. Dealing with the League had allowed the information to stack up, and he regretted not asking Nightwing to handle a good bit of it for him while he'd been off-world. He had to learn to be less stubborn so that it could never happen again.

From what he had been able to gather, everything in the interior of the city was operating as usual. When it came to the docks, he tracked every shipment, traced its paths, traced the numbers to their cargo. He calculated every import, and then reviewed his own information from when he had investigated the pier himself. He wished there had been footage for him to review, but the security wasn't as tight as in other sections of the city. That, and the explosion had knocked out the limited feeds he had laced through the area.

Despite the setback, Bruce found one inconsistency, and clung to it like a lifeline. He was so deep in concentration that he barely even noticed he had pushed the chair back into Dick as he came up behind him. The young man stepped back, and then leaned his weight on top of the back of the chair, his arms crossed. "Find anything useful?"

"It's a small detail," Bruce admitted, but clicked away at the keyboard anyway, pulling up the information he had gathered. "This is the list of shipments that were supposed to be imported the night of the explosion. Obviously the crime was a setback, and so they've been coming in irregularly ever since."

"But that's normal," Dick said, eyes narrowed in thought. "What makes it different?"

"When I went and took surveillance, there was more cargo waiting at the dock than what there should have been. It's possible that it was human error but…"

"It could be connected," Dick finished, pushing off the chair, suddenly filled with new energy. Bruce highly doubted it was from the rest Alfred had ordered on the young man. "We have to go check it out."

"We will," Bruce assured, glancing to the time. It pained him to see that the numbers were much later than he'd hoped; more of those precious minutes ticking away while he scrambled to find answers. "Sunrise is in an hour. We're better off waiting until night."

Dick made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and Bruce half turned in the chair and looked up to him. He reflected his son's own tired and irritated gaze, but the aggravation was not at all his fault. If anything, Bruce directed the feelings at himself. "I want to find him too, Dick. But we can't throw caution to the wind. I have a meeting in four hours, and I don't want you going to investigate alone."

"I'll take Alfred," the young man suggested, only half joking. Most of the humor seemed lost in his bright blue eyes, which lately had seemed more dull than alight.

"Dick," Bruce said warningly, both with the tone of a father figure but the authority of the Batman himself. There was no arguing this situation, and his eldest son had plenty of wisdom and experience under his belt with crime fighting and dealing with the Batman. With the stakes this high, there was no choice but to wait for them to work together, or face an even worse possible outcome.

"Fine," Dick relented, knowing that it was an argument he'd only lose. His efforts were better put towards working than engaging in verbal battles with his father. "But I'm still searching the city in the meantime."

"If it eases your mind," Bruce said with a nod. He knew it couldn't be the Joker behind Tim's disappearance; he had abandoned the theory a while ago. It wasn't worth running after goons who didn't have a clue as to where the lunatic they served had gone. They were better off tackling this as a team and finding the real culprit behind Tim's prolonged absence.

"I won't be at ease until he's back," Dick said firmly, his mouth a grim line. Tension enveloped his entire being, radiating from his posture to the gleam in his irises. It told the story of a young man who had seen too much, and learned the hard way that no matter how much he tried to suppress the fear, it drove him to keep on fighting.

"Believe me," Bruce said solemnly, "I feel the same. But we will find him."

There were no 'ifs' about it. There was no time to have doubts. Together, they would find Tim, and they would bring him home.

They had to.

* * *

It had been a while since he'd felt this sore.

After his shower Tim had examined the bruises covering his body, splattered across his back and arms, blossoming over his legs. They weren't extremely painful, only uncomfortable at worst. Some didn't even have feeling to them. But looking over the marks of training, he couldn't help but remember that Bruce had never pushed him this far. He'd never purposely let Tim put himself at the risk of getting hurt. Jason was rougher, much more hands-on, and not afraid to let Tim get his hands dirty.

To Tim's surprise, he actually enjoyed it.

Getting involved in the fight was different from cultivating his logic skills. He knew how to incorporate logic into the battle, to plan on his feet. But he'd never felt the fight in his veins the way Jason insisted he had to experience. It had all been in his head for so long, the thrum of battle only tension. Tim had never really wanted to fight, had wanted to find the most peaceful way to deal with problems.

He sat on the edge of his bed, looking over his hands that were lightly scratched from sparring. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the sensation of the fight, the blood racing through his body, the fuel being poured onto the fire. It had been wonderful to let his instincts take over, to let them guide him while still using his head. Until this session, he'd never really wanted to fight with such vigor. Now, he nearly craved it.

 _Great, I'm an adrenaline junkie now._ Tim ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the pillows. He knew how to be in control. It had been his job to keep Batman in line for the longest time, after all. But letting go, letting his inner rage ease into the fight...it felt good. No, more than good. It was liberating.

He hadn't felt so alive in such a long time.

"Did I rough you up too much?" Jason appeared in the doorway, wearing a t-shirt and faded jeans, his feet barefoot. By the looks of it he had showered as well, his eyes clear of the rush of the fight. He looked just like Jason Todd now, like a normal young man. It threw Tim off a bit to see him so civilian, so...average.

This was Jason Todd of all people. He was not a typical case by any means, and had transcended average a long time ago.

"I've been hurt worse," Tim said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Besides, you got your point across. That's what matters."

"Hey, for the record I'm not trying to hurt you," Jason said, leaning against the door frame. "But you're not going to learn if you don't work for it."

"I'm willing," Tim answered, casting a glance to the side. "It was easier to learn than I thought."

Jason went quiet, and when Tim lifted his eyes back to where the man stood, he found Jason watching him thoughtfully. It was hard to decipher just what he was thinking, and then he spoke, with just enough hesitance that told Tim he had been wrestling with the idea for a while. "You said you lost your dad, right?"

Tim nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn't secret information; if Jason had done any research on him it would be easy to find out. The fact that he had openly shared that, showing a weak part of himself so easily to the young man, made Tim want to flush in embarrassment. He held his ground though, even if he didn't keep his gaze directly on Jason for long.

There was another pause, and then Jason turned his own gaze to the window on the opposite wall. "It still hurts, doesn't it? He hasn't been gone long."

"Is it obvious?"

Jason shrugged, "Not really. But when you were fighting, you weren't pulling that effort out of nowhere. You drew on something that caused you pain, whether you realized it or not."

He looked to Tim, and his gaze was softer, but guarded nonetheless. "I can't say that I understand what it's like to lose a father that you actually care for. But I can say that I see how you're dealing with his absence. I think you've got a lot of hard feelings towards it, whether you admit it or not."

Tim didn't say anything, but he knew he didn't have to; the fight had already given him away. Grieving skills were not in the assets of the Bat and his clan, and Tim had adopted their methods all the same. His father's death cut a hole into him, and he'd forced himself to be numb to it. He had to help Bruce, he had to protect Gotham; that was his purpose. If he just focused on that, the grief wouldn't slow him down. The pain would disappear faster, or so he thought. But Tim knew he was only pushing it farther and farther into the depths, not making them fade. As much as he believed in Batman's moral code, as much as he respected Bruce Wayne, vengeance cried to him from the darkness of his soul.

" _Sometimes the animal has to be let out."_ Was that what was happening now? The thought sent a pang of fear through him, his stomach tightening into knots. There was a rage inside of him when he pictured his father bloodied, eyes glossed over, gone from the world. But it hadn't had an outlet. It hadn't been quenched. Maybe this was how he would have to grieve; through every punch and hit. Somehow that seemed to be the way all of them dealt with pain; hitting harder.

"So what drives you?" Tim let his expression be an open book as he raised his head to his mentor, wondering if it would prompt the young man to share. "What do you draw on in order to fight?"

The smile that Jason gave was without humor, but the same flash came to life in his irises. It said so much so fast, played a string of memories and realizations across his features. Behind the facade the wave crashed, then receded just as quickly. "You're smart. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

He didn't linger any longer. Jason gave a small wave as his 'goodnight' and then disappeared, Tim listening as his footsteps retreated to his own quarters. The teen stared at the empty doorway, and then finally flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He held onto the image of Jason's stormy expression, of the way he regarded Tim with hesitance but begrudging acceptance. It wasn't exactly easy to figure out the mind of someone who had been through what the majority of people never even dreamed possible.

But despite all the oddities that made him special, Jason Todd was still a man.

Even if he didn't say it, even if he tried to hide it, Tim could see past the facade. Maybe Jason was calculating, maybe he had an agenda of his own by taking him away from Gotham. But Tim knew that his motivation didn't spawn from the need to protect or the desire for justice. It wasn't fear or a sense of moral duty that drove him to make his decisions and take action.

It was hurt.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: How refreshing it is to finally post another chapter after so long. I've had to make a lot of revisions in how I wanted to set up the pacing of this story, as I don't want it to drag, which resulted in a very long chapter. I did promise a decent sized chapter for you guys, after all. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing this section. Please let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

"Hey! Who do you think you are? Part of the police or something?"

Irritation filled the Red Hood at the sound of the voice, clearly trying to act tough in the face of confrontation. His gun was at the criminal's head instantly as he pushed him into the wall, knowing the weapon would be enough of a threat to keep him still. From behind the helmet, Jason rolled his eyes, the aggravation seeping into his tone of voice. "Am I dressed like a pushover cop?"

The man's eyes were wide with fear, the cotton mask he'd been using during the robbery now clenched in his shaking hands. While the rest of his buddies had scattered, Jason had caught this one by surprise and cornered him. Whatever crime that Nightwing had managed to keep at bay was surging in his absence, and so Jason took it upon himself handle the misdeeds. That, and he had been cooped up in the hideout for so long that he felt the need to stretch his legs. While training in the shelter was helpful, it wasn't anything like the real action.

He pressed the barrel of the pistol to the crook's head, his voice like steel, "I'll ask you once, and only once. What was the point in robbing the bank when you're already sitting on a pile of loot?"

Panic rose in the thug's face, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if that would make the dangerous, and potentially crazy, man in front of him disappear. "I-it's a trade! A trade! The boss doesn't want to switch hands, so he thought he could please her by-"

" _Her_? Since when does the drug trade involve women around here?"

"I-I don't know-I just-she's-he's…" The man stuttered, shaking underneath Jason's iron grip, pushing himself back into the wall as if he could melt into it and get away. The sight was rather pathetic, all dignity gone. Jason had no doubt in his mind why the gang had made him a runner, and it was not surprising that he was the one Jason had been able to nab. Gangs really seemed to be lacking in talented members nowadays.

"Oh, for God-" Jason began, ready to shake the answers out of the man if he didn't start giving up useful intel within the next five seconds.

"Hood."

Jason gave a sideways glance to the owner of the voice at his right. Tim stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, an ever-present frown on his face. Despite the red domino mask that Jason had supplied him, he still looked grim. Jason could imagine why: his kind of patrolling was not like Batman's routine, nor were his tactics the same. But the boy had gotten better throughout their training sessions, becoming more and more like the fighter he locked away except when he grew desperate to win. When Jason allowed him to come along, he hadn't thought that Tim would accept the invite.

Once he did, he had expected there to be resistance on Tim's part as soon as he realized the kind of persona the Red Hood really was: unsympathetic and here to get the job done. But Tim said nothing more, just watched the scene unfolding in front of him with only Jason's field name hanging between them. It wasn't so much a warning as Tim's way of asking him to consider what he was doing. The teen hadn't yet caught on that Jason knew exactly how to handle this, and that he'd done it plenty of times before the two had met.

Red Hood sighed heavily, and then without missing a beat knocked the handle of the pistol into the side of the crook's head. He crumpled unconscious to the ground, and Jason stepped leisurely over his body. "Something tells me he wasn't meant for this type of business."

"He wouldn't know anything about what you're looking for," Tim said, falling into step beside Jason as they walked down the alley. He looked far from the Robin that he usually was in the field. The suit itself was rather tattered and ruined, and it wasn't like he could wear that out in public when he was in hiding. Jason wasn't about to let him run around in one of the most dangerous cities in regular clothes, either. He'd managed to fit the teenager into a shirt similar to his with plenty of protection built into it, kevlar and all. Tim wore dark jeans, boots (ones that fit him properly) and the jacket that Jason had also provided for him. The domino mask matched the one Jason occasionally wore under his helmet, though Jason was not matching him tonight.

"I probably just did him a favor," Jason said, clambering onto the nearby fire escape and making his way up it quickly. "Now when he wakes up he has plenty of time to get out of Bludhaven before his boss finds him."

Tim mumbled something under his breath, but didn't elaborate. Jason heard him following, climbing just fast enough to keep up. He was right on Jason's heels as the young man hoisted himself onto the roof, rolling out his shoulders as he made his way across. "You might want to head back. Things might get a little too messy for your tastes."

"If you're going to try and bust this deal, I'm going too," Tim said firmly, striding past Jason to look over the edge of the roof. He seemed to be taking in all of his surroundings, coming up with some plan that Jason had yet to discover.

"It won't be much of 'trying' as it will getting rid of the problem," Jason clarified, resting his foot on the ledge. "Just cause I'm training you doesn't mean I'll stop doing things my way."

Tim's lips formed a line, but he didn't relent. "Can you keep it to a minimum?"

"I'm not going to shoot anyone who doesn't deserve it," Jason answered. "Unlike what you may think, I'm not looking to drench the streets. Have a little faith in me."

"I'm doing my best," Tim answered, further taking Jason off guard. The teen was so complacent about everything, willing to go along with what the young man wanted despite their extreme differences in viewpoints. It didn't make much sense, and Jason wondered not for the first time if Tim had developed his own agenda. Maybe he was waiting to take Jason down when he least expected it. Perhaps that was his goal for agreeing to come with him in the first place.

One glance at Tim told him that whatever was going on in that bright head of his, it wasn't what Jason's more paranoid side suggested. Tim gazed back at him, looking only half as disturbed as Jason expected. The rest of his thoughts were masked behind a cool exterior, his posture not quite relaxed but not tense either. He was waiting, as always, for Jason to make a move.

"Keep it up," Jason said after a brief pause. There was a level of trust between them that they had ever so slowly built, and since finding out Jason's identity Tim had been letting that rise. There seemed to be an understanding in the teen that out of the two of them, the Red Hood had far more expertise. In the field, he was going to have to trust Jason's judgment. "We don't have time to start questioning one another."

Standing around and letting another analytical pause happen wasn't on Jason's to-do list. He turned to face the ledge and leapt off the roof, and the teen followed suit.

* * *

In all honesty, he hadn't expected Tim to let him do it.

Tim had not protested further when they descended into the gathering, the tables covered in the stolen jewelry and cases of various drugs. There had been only a few moments of shock from the gang members, and once they realized it was not Nightwing who had caught them but someone else they registered the new threat, and gave everything they had. What the criminals had to throw their way wasn't much; dodging the bullets and knives wasn't that hard of a feat. The gang was fierce, Jason would give them that, having a few encounters that were entirely too close for his comfort.

The glimpses that he got of Tim fighting were enough to tell Jason that the training had been paying off. Tim was as determined to excel as he claimed, and that resulted in him being faster, more agile, and hitting harder than ever before. It made Jason wish he had the opportunity to really observe the teenager, but he was a little more occupied with finding the ringleader. Whether this whole robbery was really over a woman or not he didn't care, he just knew who to seek out and deal with. Indeed he did find the culprit, the man stumbling and attempting to close himself into a hidden room. Jason merely kicked the door down and entered, and finished the job with a single bullet. While he was courteous enough to not deal the killing blow in front of Tim, he was certain the teen heard the gunshot.

By the time he'd exited the place of the leader's execution, he found Tim amidst the unconscious, though clearly breathing, bodies of the rest of the gang members. Tim had said nothing, just met Jason's gaze through his mask, his dark hair tousled from the fight. Jason had simply nodded in the direction of the exit, sending a call to the police, and left the scene as simply as he had entered.

Now he strode across the rooftop, the teen following wordlessly behind him. Jason tried to ignore the silence between them that, in his mind, was growing more and more uncomfortable every moment that passed. It wasn't that Tim was aggravating him, but the fact that he was so quiet after the whole thing threw the Red Hood off entirely. Every reaction that Tim had towards Jason's choices was completely opposite than what he expected, and he just didn't understand it. So when he suddenly halted in his step and turned to face Tim, he was only partially surprised to see the teen look from the ground to meet his gaze, the thoughtful frown present on his features.

"What are you upset with now?" Jason resisted rolling his eyes under the helmet. This was the first time he found himself to be unbelievably frustrated with the teen, and if he had to be honest he wasn't sure how to deal with such a feeling other than to be on the defensive.

"You killed him so easily," Tim said, as though thinking aloud. He blinked, realizing that he was initiating in a conversation with someone other than the voice in his head. "Just like that and it was over."

The teen's response rang true to what Jason believed troubled the hero, but he only shrugged at his thoughts. "Tell Nightwing to get his city's drug cartel under control and I wouldn't have to step in."

Tim, however, wasn't satisfied with that. His features clouded with confusion and uncertainty, his eyebrows narrowed with the same troubled expression reflecting in his masked eyes. "It's just-you _died_ , Jason. Why would you want to put someone else through that?"

"Did I deserve to die?" The question fell from Jason's mouth sharp and quick, with barely a pause between Tim's words and his own.

"No," Tim started, and then gave a small sigh, "you were just a kid caught in the crossfire."

"Or maybe I was punished for trying to do the right thing," Jason suggested, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. When he thought of the role he played in his own death, it was never quite clear. He knew some people would blame him, he always had been fierce after all, but he didn't think it was his fault that he died. He didn't think it was Bruce's fault either. In the end, neither of them were completely responsible, at least in Jason's opinion.

"It shouldn't have happened," Tim said quietly. It was hard to tell where the boy was looking, but Jason was almost certain it wasn't directly at himself. "No one deserves what you went through."

"Got that right," Jason said with a scoff, shaking his head. He started to walk forwards, and then turned back to Tim as a second wave of thoughts overtook him, and he found it impossible to hold them back. "You think I like killing? I don't. But if you hurt kids, if you hurt women, if you take advantage of other people's suffering and kicking them into the dirt, I can't stand by and let that continue. At least if they're dead, they can't hurt anyone ever again."

"They could go to jail," Tim suggested, but didn't bother to push the option.

"You clearly don't know much about the justice system if that's your solution," Jason answered. "It doesn't guarantee anything. People walk out without paying the price all the time. Putting down the ones who are only out to hurt others is the only way to ensure safety for the innocent."

"I guess that's why you and Batman won't get along," Tim said, as if verbally putting the pieces together. "You see justice entirely different."

"You mean I'll do everything that Batman won't," Jason clarified. "You're right. It gets the job done, and that's all I worry about."

"Not exactly," Tim answered. "You obviously worry about dying if you try so hard to survive."

He did, of course. How could he make a difference in the world if he was dead? The list of goals he had to accomplish was ever growing, and he couldn't complete them if he was in the ground. He ought to make use of his second chance if Talia saw it fit to bring him back to this world. But the way Tim said it implied that he was afraid of dying, afraid of the breath and life leaving his being once more. To that, he had to attest otherwise, and turned so that he was fully facing the teen, "Let me tell you something, Tim. Dying is easy. But coming back from it? That's the part they don't tell you about. They make you fear death happening because no one expects what comes next. No one ever intends to rise."

He shook his head, trying to push away the dark feeling of dread rising in the back of his mind, "It wasn't my choice to come back to the land of the living. No one thought to get my approval first."

Tim tilted his head to the side slightly, wonder in his expression, albeit with a tinge of hesitance. "If it had been up to you, would you have wanted to come back?"

"Depends," Jason answered. "If it was right after everything went down, then yeah, I would have been okay with that."

Then he could have fallen right back into being Robin. He could have strode up to Wayne Manor and cracked some stupid joke to Alfred, walked through the doors to see Bruce standing there. He might have been able to talk some sense into his old mentor, he might have been able to see what Tim claimed Batman had turned into after his death.

All Jason could see though, was when he first discovered the Joker was alive. He still remembered seeing another boy wearing red and green at Batman's side, swinging above Gotham as the city's guardians. The image nearly shattered his soul again, and the echos of raw pain and hot, flowing tears almost overtook him. Jason's voice softened, the only way he could keep the agony from bleeding into his tone."But if I had known what changed in my absence? I think I would have chosen to stay dead."

He glanced down to where a bunch of drunks were wandering out of a bar, a group of men staggering after a woman, who was none the wiser. Jason leaned over the edge to watch them, already knowing where this was going. In mere minutes they would catch up to the woman and corner her, and then she'd be helpless to the drunkards who would mug her, or worse. The conversation between the two boys evaporated, and Jason looked back to Tim, "You're up."

Tim looked at him a moment, as if debating on saying anything more. Whatever went through his mind didn't reach his mouth, and he turned his back and leapt from the building, trailing after the men. Jason walked to the other side of the roof, taking a deep breath as he watched Tim descend upon the assaulters. The teen had gotten faster, stronger, and each time he moved he expressed even more passion than Jason had ever observed. He placed one leg on the ledge and leaned forwards, resting his arms on his propped up knee, and watched his teachings play out before him.

* * *

The cold night air wasn't what sent a chill down Batman's spine.

He'd been on many missions where he'd had to resist shuddering at a horrible sight or swallow down anything that disturbed him greatly. It was part of being Gotham's protector that he put up a resilient front, that way he didn't fall to pieces like normal people would in disastrous situations. Repressing his feelings kept him focused, it kept him going and alert. But now, rushing through the shadows at Gotham's docks, he found that the shiver was one of anxiety, his blood pounding at the thought of getting one step closer to Tim.

Nightwing appeared at his side, dropping down to move beside him through the shadows. Batman had sent the other hero ahead of him in order to scope out any potential disturbances, which had come up negative. It made him wonder if there was something missing; it seemed odd that there hadn't been any activity lately, but he continued on despite the feeling. The data remained at his disposal; back at the cave he had ran identification and tracking numbers, plus the locations of each cargo box. The conclusions made it easy to find the extras, so it did not surprise him to find the large container set back away from the rest, and unguarded.

Batman approached the cargo with restraint, Nightwing giving him a glance as he moved almost in step with his old mentor. Part of him wanted to kick the door down and get whatever lay beyond done, that way he could be on track to finding Tim. But the other calculating, logical side of him knew he needed patience if he was to do this right. There was no time to do it wrong, either. If they messed up now, there could be no recovering from the damage.

Even though Nightwing stood beside him with as much readiness to act in his stance, Batman knew him well enough to sense the impatience within him. The hero turned his head slightly and gave the Bat a sideways look, his masked eyes impossible to read if not for how well Batman could interpret his body language. He was prepared for whatever the cargo showed them, and felt just as anxious at himself, even though Batman was much better at concealing such worries. He didn't want to wait that much longer, either. Batman gave him a nod and the two moved forwards, breaking off the side of the crate that was taller than the their own heights combined. The moonlight shown inside, where hundreds of smaller boxes resided. Batman walked in carefully, then moved to the nearest box and opened it. Inside were vials of liquid, colored a sickening green.

Nightwing reached into another box and held one up to the light, his masked eyes narrowing. "So this is why Joker was at the docks that night. All of this for a toxin? How could the he have gotten his hands on something like this without us knowing?"

"Or how much of it," Batman said. "He came for this shipment, but must have gotten sidetracked when Robin stumbled onto the scene. Then after the explosion he never had the chance to come back for it."

"So he was planning on unleashing these toxins or something. Then Tim got caught in the middle." Nightwing turned fully to the Bat, setting the vial back in the box. "That all adds up, but how could they both have disappeared without a trace?"

"Isn't that a good question, Bird Boy?"

Both Batman and Nightwing spun around, Batman nearly shattering the vial in his grasp. Standing in the entryway was the Joker, grinning manically at the sight of the Bat clan trapped in his web. Out from behind the boxes jumped his henchmen, guns drawn. Even from behind the villain his goons approached, bearing weapons at the ready.

"Look at this! It's like one big family reunion," Joker cackled as he outstretched his arms, the moonlight bleaching his pale skin even further. He pretended to count, pointing at both vigilantes and himself, and then a few of the henchmen around him before he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Though I do believe we're missing someone."

"What have you done with Robin?" Batman barely kept himself from dashing towards the madman and taking him down. If not for the guns pointed at him from every direction, it probably would have happened. Though Batman wasn't all that concerned with anyone the Joker employed, any sudden movements at the moment could be detrimental to him learning the whereabouts of his partner.

Joker lit up like he just remembered a very important detail, snapping his fingers at the mention of the bird. "Ah, that's the one! Can't say I've seen him around, though. Not since the night we played our little game."

"What did you do?" Nightwing's voice was dangerously low, his anger rolling off of him in waves. It resonated with Batman, who had to do his best to choke down his own strong emotions. He had to think straight, to focus on getting as much information as possible, even if that meant playing mind games with the Joker.

"Oh, Bird Boy, I'm sorry you weren't invited. We had such a good time, reminiscing the past and all." Joker's expression then turned to one of disgust, and he rolled his eyes at the next sentence he spoke, "At least until we had a very rude, uninvited visitor. He just had to barge in when it was getting good."

Batman tried to conceal his eagerness at Joker's comment, an eagerness laced with cold in his veins and a tendril of fear winding around his heart. "Visitor? Who?"

"Couldn't say, though he did remind me of myself back in the day," Joker said, holding up his arms in a shrug. "I guess it's just okay to recycle old ideas nowadays. A little bit of credit would be nice."

"Looks like we have our answer," Nightwing muttered, his fingers twitching as they hovered near his escrima sticks. "Sounds like we've got ourselves a new villain. Just what this city needs, another lunatic."

"Oh come now, be a little nicer," Joker said, waving his finger with a frown. "None of you boys ever have any respect."

"If he wasn't working for you, how would he have known your whereabouts? Why would he have bothered with either of you?" Batman knew he was fishing for answers that this enemy couldn't provide. But he had to sort through it aloud, had to get everything in line as his investigation took a whole different turn. Somehow this culprit had a connection to the Joker, and possibly Robin. How could those two be the link to a rising villain?

"Now really, Bats, do I seem like the type of person to ask for help?" Joker shook his head, and then tapped on his forehead, "I have to protect this creative genius. Whoever has your little birdy, though, looked pretty angry."

The Joker grinned, too red lips splitting apart to show a ferocious smile, the kind that Batman couldn't help but feel crawl under his skin. "Angry enough to kill, and finish the job I started."

He knew he shouldn't have let it happen. Batman usually could have contained himself from reacting to the Joker's taunts, could have kept his emotions from rising. But this was the monster that had taken one son from him already. This was the one responsible for his current partner's disappearance, leaving him trapped in the hands of some unknown enemy. Because of him, the unimaginable was happening all over again.

It would _not_ happen again.

The small pellets were in his hands in moments and he threw them down, casting a smokescreen that expanded to fill the entire cargo space. Nightwing drew his weapons and dove in, attacking the henchmen that were taken off guard by the attack. Batman launched himself into the fight, staying under the protection of the stacks of crates and then going on the offensive, knocking one thug out after the other. Bullets flew by, grazing his suit, his cape, shattering the vials of toxins. Their fumes were concerning, and Batman knew that he couldn't afford to be affected by them during this fight.

He rushed to the entryway, Nightwing seeing him through the smoke and following after him in an understanding formed only from years of experience. Glass crunched under their feet, and the two of them leapt from the fast fading smoke into the night. Together the two of them shoved the door shut, trapping the remaining henchmen inside. The amount of vials that had spilled wouldn't be enough to cause them tremendous damage, mentally or physically, and Batman had enough antidote on him if they were that badly affected if the case turned out differently than he expected. Outside, however, the henchmen were advancing upon them without giving them a moment to catch their breath.

From the middle of the shipyard, the Joker cackled hysterically, "When are you going to learn, Bats? You can't beat me, so you may as well _be_ me!"

Nightwing darted, jumping over the henchmen in his way and reaching for the Joker, fists flying and kicks all aimed to injure and subdue. The Joker continued laughing, dodging the hits until Nightwing finally landed a hard one right to his jaw, and the monster of a man stumbled backwards into another cargo shipment, rubbing at his jaw. Nightwing went to advance to him again, but a barrage of bullets rained down and forced him to double back.

Batman fought harder, faster, throwing goon after goon to the side. He didn't care about the shipment, he didn't fully care about the possible threat to his city, either. All he could think about was Robin, waiting for him, needing his help. This lunatic maybe wasn't the key to finding him, but he had to lock him up, had to stop him from putting any more harm to his family while he continued the search. The Bat sent a hard punch to another thug's face, feeling the crunch of bone underneath his fist. The Joker was in his sights, grinning widely, even as his thugs all fell defeated around him. Batman sent one last crushing hit to the final goon left standing around him, then spun around and set his sights on the mad man.

His eyes barely caught the flicker of a shadow darting across the top of the cargo shipment.

The thugs who stood as armed guards suddenly dropped their guns, their bodies twisting in pain. They each howled with agony and then collapsed, bodies sprawled on top of the shipment. Batman caught the sight of blade protruding from their backs and necks, blood staining their dark clothing. The shadow moved quickly, almost a blur as it dropped out of the air, a gleaming blade in its hands. Joker turned, but barely had the time to react as the shadow slammed the hilt of the blade into his skull. The mad man fell, crumbling into an unconscious heap on the ground, his wicked laugh silenced.

Batman froze in his step, his eyes staring intensely at the Joker. For a moment he wondered how hard the blow had been, but saw the slight rise in his chest that indicated he was breathing. A small fraction of his conscience was relieved at the fact, but then he turned his attention to the one who had done the damage. To say that he was taken aback was an understatement. Now in the moonlight he could see that the shadow was nothing more than a young boy, perhaps only ten years old. A scowl graced his features, an iron grip on the blade of a silver sword, and he stood with all the assurance of a fully grown man.

He was a mirror image of the Batman himself.

Batman almost didn't hear Nightwing appear at his side, but the eldest strode up, giving the boy a look of both confusion and suspicion. The hesitance in his voice was clear, "Someone make a clone of you?"

It was far from Nightwing's usual joking manner. The grip he had on his escrima sticks did not lessen, even at the obvious similarities between his old mentor and the young boy. Batman wasn't sure whether he ought to be more on his guard than ever or just intrigued by the newest arrival.

"I'm better than a carbon copy," the boy said, and then motioned to the unconscious Joker on the ground. "I've cleaned up your mess for you. You're welcome."

"A mess that a child shouldn't have gotten involved in," Batman said firmly, trying to analyze the stranger in front of him. He knew that he could find a way to dispatch the boy, get the weapon from his hands and take him into custody for his own personal questioning. But something held him back from doing so, even if it was apparent that he was more dangerous than any child he'd come across in the past.

The boy scoffed, rolling his eyes, and then set a razor sharp gaze on the Bat. It reflected his own Bat-glare so well that the Dark Knight felt a chill run over his skin. "I didn't expect you to be so demeaning. Talia sends her regards."

"Talia?" Nightwing nearly jumped at the sound of the name, looking to Gotham's Knight with even more suspicion. "What about her?"

But Batman only frowned, his mind working in a direction that he felt inclined to deny. "Enough with the games. An introduction would be appropriate."

The young boy narrowed his eyes slightly, seeming disgruntled but quickly shoved it aside. He stood tall and assured, like he had every honor bestowed upon him, like he had all the cards in his hands. "As you wish, Father. My name is Damian. Damian Wayne."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry to leave you guys with that cliff hanger for a little while, but I'm here to follow through. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.**

* * *

"Next time you should really let me intervene," Jason said, his hands lightly grasping Tim's arm as he cleaned out the wound on his bicep. "I saw enough within the first few minutes."

"I knew I could hold my ground," Tim protested, wincing as the peroxide stung his skin. Jason knew the feeling all too well, and how the teenager directed his focus anywhere but the injury. His eyes were trained on the large computer monitor, which displayed the feed of a current news station, filling the room with background noise. He appeared intrigued, but it was more to try and suppress the pain from showing on his face. "I wanted you to see that I could handle it."

"Yeah, you did. But there was no reason for you to come out of that and be this scathed." When Jason had sent the teen into the fight, he had been ready to jump in himself at a moment's notice. In fact, he hadn't even intended to leave the entire battle in Tim's hands. He'd let him go for a few minutes, analyzing the teen's every move, watching as he put everything he had learned to good use. Tim ducked under punches, throwing his entire weight into each hit, holding back enough so that his blows wouldn't shatter bones but stun his opponents instead. He danced around the attempted punches and kicks by his enemies in his own style, but with a sleekness that he'd polished recently. His movements were sharper, more defined, and with less hesitance and thought behind each step.

The progress was clear in the eyes of his mentor. Tim hadn't shied away from incorporating Jason's teachings into all that he already knew, and the progress was near astounding. He wasn't just observant and intelligent, but able to apply the new skills and use them to their full capability. It only hardened Jason's theory that this wasn't the average sidekick. This was someone with every intention to improve, and with the skill set to be something incredible.

Of course, Tim had his experience, but still not enough to make such a large fight seem effortless. The men weren't as drunk as Jason had first suspected, and even still their advantages of aggression, height, and bulk all stacked against the young hero. The moment his opponents started to gain an edge, knocking Tim off his feet, Jason had reached for his guns, fingers hovering just above the trigger, the whisper of the handle against his palm. But Tim's head had snapped in his direction, and even with his eyes masked Jason could feel intense, nearly brutal warning behind them: _No. Back off._

As much as Jason hadn't particularly liked the idea, he'd remained in his spot and let Tim handle the situation. In the end all the thugs had gone down, laying in an unconscious but alive heap, as was the teen's fashion of dealing with criminals. Tim came out of the fight victorious, but battered and bruised nonetheless. Much to Jason's surprise, it hadn't dimmed his mood to have taken such a beating. If anything, he seemed invigorated by it.

Tim shrugged with his good shoulder, otherwise staying still while Jason finished wrapping his wounds. None of them were life-threatening, but they were sure to cause discomfort for a while. "It's not like this job is exactly painless. I'm used to it."

"Taking it like a real soldier," Jason commented, only able to bite back half a grin. "I have to admit I'm impressed."

A flicker of light came to life in Tim's eyes, akin to childlike excitement, but he reeled it in before it could become too obvious. Jason still saw its effect, brightening the tiredness of his features, causing a slight upward tilt to his mouth like he was trying to suppress a smile. "I feel like it takes a lot to impress you."

"You're right," Jason replied, gathering up all the medical supplies he had laid out on the table. "Hard to be impressed when you've seen so much already. But, hey, looks like you managed to get my approval somehow."

Jason lifted his gaze to catch the brief look that flashed across Tim's face, and this time he was certain he knew what it was: pride. As much as the teen tried to keep his expression neutral, the good vibes he received from gaining Jason's good judgment radiated off him in waves. If Jason wasn't trying to keep his own demeanor reserved he would have laughed, not at the boy's reaction but because he found it flattering. Tim hadn't been kidding when he told Jason (more than once) that he had always looked up to the former Robin. Now Jason had enough proof to believe it.

How strange that someone actually looked up to him when everyone else only ever belittled him.

How odd that someone had wanted to be like him when there was nothing particularly good about Jason Todd.

"That's one for the record books," Tim said, carefully pulling his shirt over his head. Once he poked his face out from the shirt opening his expression returned to calm and collected, with only a small twinge of discomfort noticeable. He was good at hiding the pain, and had quite the poker face to match. Sometimes it took Jason a decent amount of time to just scratch the surface of what was going through Tim's head, something he never had to do before. Knowing Batman, knowing Bruce Wayne, was easy. But Tim? For all of the similarities he had with the Bat, he was an entirely different challenge.

The thought of their old mentor brought a question that Jason had been mulling over for a while make itself apparent in his mind yet again. He kept his voice and posture casual, but the question he had was more serious than he let on. "So when are you going to tell Bruce that I'm alive?"

Tim only thought on it for a moment, looking to Jason and blinking with an innocence that the young man hadn't expected. He thought he would catch a spark of a devious nature, maybe catching the teen off guard. But everything about Tim read as open and honest. When Jason tried to evaluate his reaction, when he tried to gauge how much of an act Tim was putting on, he found nothing at all.

"I wasn't planning on it," Tim answered, his light blue gaze only solidifying his truthful response. He wasn't hiding behind a wall, he wasn't playing any game. "You didn't go straight to him for a reason, so it's your choice to tell him yourself, whenever you decide."

It was such an unexpected response that Jason didn't know how to take it. He shut the lid on the box of medical supplies, pushing it off to the side, finding himself looking anywhere but at Tim. "Well, that's oddly considerate of you. Thought you'd run off to the big man sooner or later."

"I don't tattle, Jason," Tim replied. "You'll tell him when you're ready. Or whenever you want. It's not my right to get in between your business with Bruce."

"Fair enough," Jason said, leaning back against the table. While Tim was right that him coming back to life was between Bruce and himself, and technically the woman who had given him second life, the teen was just as integral to the situation. He had a foot in the door, a piece in the puzzle that without him wouldn't be completely accurate. Just because Jason's resentment towards Tim had lessened didn't mean he was fully exempt from what happened. He still played a part in all the madness, in all the pain that Jason had endured when coming back to life.

Tim tipped his head slightly, "Why didn't you just tell me who you were when we first met? Why drag me along, make me figure it out on my own?"

"What, we're playing twenty questions again?" Jason couldn't help but let the snark filter into his voice. Besides, it bought him time to decide whether he would tell the truth or only half of it. Tim didn't really need to know yet that Jason had planned to use him to get his vengeance, and if Jason could help it the teen would never have to know.

Half a smirk crept onto Tim's face, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Humor me."

Jason shifted, bracing his palms against the table for something to ground him. He opted for a half truth, figuring it wouldn't hurt too much in the long run. It wasn't a total lie, either, he was just leaving out the other part of the story. "I wondered at first if you'd recognize me. I knew you were smart, so I guess I was just testing the waters."

Then he shrugged, "But I didn't really expect you to know. No one would have guessed it to be true."

"Bruce doesn't really keep pictures around," Tim admitted, looking a bit guilty at the admission. "And in any of them you're in uniform, so it's not easy to see your face. And you've aged since then."

But Jason barely heard the rest of the teen's explanation, his eyes going downcast to the floor as his eyes narrowed. "No pictures, huh? I guess it makes everything a lot easier to forget."

Tim was silent for so long that Jason thought the teen finally was in agreement with him. The young man lifted his head and found instead that Tim's expression was one of sadness, with a hint of pity. He even dared to look a bit frustrated, right around the crinkles of his eyes. "You really don't understand, do you?"

"Apparently not, if you're giving me that look. Which is not appreciated, by the way."

Tim didn't relent, keeping the same expression locked on Jason's face. "The lack of pictures, the memorial of your uniform in the cave, how determined he was to not have a Robin until he had no choice. Everything he did was never meant to help him forget. It was to remind him of the pain every single day."

His gaze narrowed in a lecturing way, but for the first time Jason caught a flash in Tim's gaze that displayed nothing but seriousness; so hard it was nearly cold, so unquestionable that he didn't dare to interject. Tim's words fell upon him like heavy stones dragging him down into the sea, "Don't think I never caught him in the moment either. Every time I put on that uniform, it's not me he sees, Jason. It's _you._ "

It had been quite a while since Jason had been at a loss for words. His voice had all but disappeared, and his thoughts were only fragments that didn't form completely coherent strings that could be spoken. All he could do was lower his gaze to the floor once more, his lips pressed into a tight line, hands gripping the edge of the table so tight it amazed him that his knuckles didn't pop through his skin. Tim was so insistent that Bruce cared, that he still cared, and some part of Jason screamed for him to believe it. The way the teen explained how Bruce felt made it so easy to understand the words he was saying.

So why did it still make him want to tear the world apart?

Tim let out a sigh, so soft that Jason barely heard it over the roar of his own thoughts. "I'll tell you something that everyone close to Bruce knows. The easiest way to break him is by saying your name."

 _Break him, huh?_ That was what Jason had set out to do in the first place. It had been the whole reason for coaxing Tim onto his side. The plan hadn't changed, he was still following the steps that he had put in order in his mind; get Tim, train Tim, get him to believe all that Jason said, steal the new Robin away from his mentor. But he had to wonder, now that most of it was said and done, now that he really knew Tim, if his heart was even in it anymore. Did he really want to tear the Dark Knight down? Was that really going to make him feel any better?

Or was it just going to make him regret not making Talia end him as soon as he'd taken his first reborn breath?

The familiar voice of a woman reporter tore Jason from his mind and brought his attention to the news feed, Tim turning his head as well. It was not of Bludhaven, but the setting of Gotham City on screen, police surrounding the docks where Jason had first encountered Tim. Thugs were being handcuffed and hauled away to transportation vehicles, the reporter just managing to stand on the outside of the crime scene without being pushed aside.

" _Thanks to the efforts of Batman, the Joker has been captured and arrested once again, and is now in transit to Arkham Asylum. Security personnel say that they are taking extra precautions and making the proper arrangements for Joker's return..."_

Of course, his return to Arkham. What else did Jason expect, really? He waited for a response from Tim, a comment about the situation. He waited and waited, and finally realized that nothing needed to be said. They understood without having to say a word that this was the way it went, and that the moral code would always prevail when it came to Batman. No matter how much it hurt Jason, the Joker would return to Arkham. Chaos would resume its normal cycle, and there was nothing the two of them could do to change it. There would be no way to make a drastic difference as long as Batman remained Gotham's protector. It would have to take death to stop the Bat, and even then the legacy would live on, somehow, someway.

There was nothing left to say with all of that truth hanging between them, unsaid but understood. They sat together in mutual silence, watching the cycle start over once more.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me." Nightwing stood tall and firm, his arms crossed over his chest, masked eyes narrowed in thought. The Batcave's shadows only emphasized the ones that hovered over his features, which were also marked with confusion and a hint of doubt. "Talia decides to drop her kid off now? What's with the timing?"

"Don't you listen?" The young boy, Damian, stood almost toe to toe with the young adult, his chin raised just enough to be able to look Dick in the eye with a glare harsh enough to shatter glass. The defiance in his posture screamed that he would not be looked down upon, and that he wasn't just some kid that Talia had abandoned at Bruce's doorstep. No, this was the unmistakable pride of a boy who knew the two family names from which he descended. Everything in the boy read that he was ready for a fight, whether it would be to defend himself or his family honor. "My mother brought me here because my father needs me."

"Needs you for his sake or her own plans?" Nightwing said, raising an eyebrow.

"She said she owes him," Damian answered, the glare receding a little as he explained once again. "With me in Gotham, she has repaid her debts fully. Whatever history is between them, this was her last act of penance."

"But what else has she done?" Nightwing insisted. "As far as we've experienced, Talia doesn't just do the right thing because she wants to. She definitely hasn't made it obvious what other 'penance' she's done, either."

"If I knew that I would have told you by now, Grayson," Damian replied sharply, saying the name with a sneer. "I don't meddle in my mother's affairs that don't involve me."

Both boys turned their heads to Batman, who remained stoically staring at them, almost through them. As soon as the fight ended he'd gathered enough of his senses and made arrangements for the Joker to be returned to Arkham. Even if he couldn't give any more considerably worthwhile information, he did need to get the lunatic off the streets and somewhere contained. Once that was covered he'd whisked his young son out of the public eye before anyone could find him.

The shock had yet to wear off, no matter how many times Damian spoke the words. Bruce had a son, a son of blood, and he hadn't known for _ten years_. All that time, every first step and the milestones missed, and Talia had never once considered sharing the secret, until now. Dick was right about that unusual point; the timing of it all. Everything was too convenient, too articulated. While Bruce highly doubted that Talia was behind Tim's disappearance, since she lacked a motive, sending Damian to him had a purpose. What else could she have done that she considered payment for her crimes against him? If returning him the son he was unaware he had was only half the bargain, then where did the other piece fall into place?

"Well, Father?" Damian's intense gaze bordered on a scowl, and its familiarity snapped Bruce out of his daze. This was his son, and he wanted to get to know him, wanted to learn his personality and what he'd had to endure in his father's absence. A life with the League of Assassins didn't bode well, and to think that Talia had aimed to turn a child of his lineage into a killer was unacceptable. He wanted to ask him so many questions, to figure out why Talia had kept him hidden all those years, maybe even find the woman herself and demand the answers from her. But this son was here and safe, here in his home where he belonged. Bruce couldn't focus on that when his other child was still nowhere to be found.

It wasn't fair, really. How could he lose one of his children only to gain another? If the universe thought they could just replace his missing son and it would deter him, it was a cruel joke to play. Bruce looked at his son for one moment, then two, and then spoke, trying to pull the right words out of his fast flowing thoughts. "There is a lot that we have to talk about. But I have something else to take care of first."

Damian's expression flickered with anger and disappointment, his eyes narrowing at his father. Clearly the answer was not what he had expected to hear, and Bruce couldn't blame him for that. "Haven't I waited long enough to talk to you? Was ten years too soon?"

"No," Bruce replied, his voice stern. Ten years was far too long for him to go without knowing of his son's existence, and he didn't want Damian thinking that he didn't care. As much as he did care, he had more than one son to look after, especially right now. "That's something that Talia and I will have to discuss. What I do know is that you're safe and my partner isn't. I have to find him before I invest all my time into something else."

"Bruce, let me go and search for Tim," Dick suggested, motioning to the boy. "I think it would be best if you two talked. He has the right to get to know you."

"Not while Tim is out there," Bruce barked, patience nearly snapping. He found himself struggling to hold it together and not rush out of the cave without another word. "We won't address another problem right now. Nothing else gets done until we bring him home."

He didn't want to think of Damian as a problem or an obstacle. No, that wasn't fair to the boy who just wanted to meet his father. Bruce knew that he would prefer the same rather than addressing the boy later. In the back of his mind he was certain that Damian needed him and his guidance, he needed to teach his son outside of the influence of his mother. But he couldn't help but see this as another distraction to his real mission, another twist in the road meant to throw him off the path. At this point, he couldn't afford to have his attention pulled in another direction.

"Maybe Damian could-"

"Damian is staying here," Bruce brushed past his eldest son, unable to stay idle any longer. Every moment was another moment lost for Tim. Every hour was another that Tim held out hope that Bruce would come for him. And every hour that passed meant that Tim lost that bit of hope, every minute a small part of his partner lost faith that Batman was really going to save him.

That had happened to a Robin once. It was not going to happen again.

If Nightwing protested further, it fell upon deaf ears. Batman strode to the Batmobile and threw himself into the seat. The roar of the engine as he sped out of the cave wasn't loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

* * *

Nightwing ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him involuntarily as he watched the Batmobile peel out of the cave. As much as he wanted to go after Bruce, he knew that it wouldn't accomplish anything. When the Bat got into one of his obsessive moods, he'd only see Nightwing as an obstacle in his path. If he wanted to help, he'd have to wait to be asked for assistance, and in the meantime do his own investigating. His head already hurt from the stress that came with even the thought of arguing with Bruce. It was in his own best interests to let it go for now and see what he could do by himself.

He glanced down to his side, where Damian stood with his hands clenched into fists. The anger had receded for the most part, and he now seemed more disappointed and offended. Dick could relate; Bruce had gone off in his moods plenty of times before, and Dick had endured them every time. But he supposed it was different coming from the boy that until a couple hours ago hadn't even known his father personally. Dick knew how to brush the arguments off, at least after a decent cool down period. Damian had no idea just how far Bruce could delve into a mission.

"He isn't concerned at all, is he?" Damian didn't take his eyes off of where the Batmobile had resided moments ago, as if he could will the vehicle back to the cave. It almost surprised Dick that the boy hadn't found a way to take off after the Bat.

"He's dealing with a lot right now," Nightwing answered, following the boy's gaze. "Once we have Tim back, he'll be at ease."

"This partner of his is nothing but a distraction," Damian said with a roll of his eyes. He turned his gaze to Dick, arms crossing over his chest. For the first time since they'd met, the boy's glare wasn't directed his way. "If that's the only way to get my father to listen, how do we find him, this Tim Drake?"

"When I figure that out, I'll let you know," Nightwing answered, looking back to Damian. While he really wanted to do his own research into Tim's whereabouts, he couldn't ignore their new guest. There was no guarantee as to when Bruce would be back, and he didn't want to be the third person to abandon the kid that night. He raised an eyebrow, looking the boy up and down. "Until then, how good are you with that sword?"


End file.
